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PILGRIMAGE. 



PILGRIMAGE 

TO THE 

LAND OF BURNS; 

CONTAINING 

AND OF THE CHARACTERS HE IMMORTALIZED, 

WITH NUMEROUS 

PIECES OF POETRY, 

Original and collected. 

We have no dearer aim than to make, leisurely, Pil- 
grimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the Fields of her 
Battles ; to wander on the Romantic Banks of her Rivers ; 
and to muse by the stately Towers, or venerable Ruins, once 
the honoured abodes of her Heroes. — Burns. 



DEPTFORD : QJ 
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY 
W. BROWN, 

AND SOLD BY SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, TATER- 
NOSTER-ROW, LONDON. 

1822. 



A 



T 



"&4 






PILGRIMAGE. 



There were three carles in the east, 

Three carles of credit fair, 
And they ha'e vow'd a solemn vow, 

To see the shire of Ayr. 

They went not forth like cadgers, 

A hotching upon brutes ; 
They went not forth like gaugers, 

A yanking on their cloots. 

But frae the sta' they've ta'en a steed, 
And they've bun him to a whisk, 

Syne awa' they flew, like the great Jehu, 
Or Willie an' the wisp. 



In presenting the public with a Pilgrimage 
to the Land of Barns, we feel sufficiently 
assured that no apology is required for the 
subject. It were well if as little might serve 
for its matter and execution. Without, how- 



X A PILGRIMAGE TO 

ever, attempting any, we beg leave briefly to 
state the motives that led to, and what was 
proposed by, such an undertaking. 

Although in the poems of Robert Burns, 
the humour, pathos, and passion are all of the 
first order of excellence, yet it is unquestion- 
ably owing to his admirable talent at catching 
c the manners living as they rise ;' of overhaul- 
ing character, and the boldness and freedom 
with which he ranges through the human 
breast, which give to his writings that sort of 
electricity, which makes every bosom feel the 
shock, and every spirit a conductor; which 
sent them through his native land like light- 
ening, and established them therein as the 
necessaries of life. It is this universal charm 
that makes his pages glitter in the library of 
the lord, and lie in the winnock bunker of the 
labourer ; even more honourably thumbed than 
his venerable co-mates Boston and Bun van. 
It is moreover no less owing to this, and to 
the closeness of his observation and the truth 
with which he delineated, that makes the vi- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 3 

cinity of his birth-place more interesting than 
almost any other poet ; — as the land he lived 
in was ever the scenery, and the beings he 
lived with always the subject of his song. 

Thus believing, the intended pilgrims, 
though fully aware that the industry and re- 
search of Mr. Cromeck, had gleaned the gross 
of what the profusion of Burn's genius had 
scattered ; still they were no less aware that 
" A-uld Coila's plains an' fells" those noble 
volumes from which he studied nature in " a' 
her shews an' forms", were still fresh and un- 
sullied as when he read them : nor did they 
despair of finding (not, however, in such good 
preservation) a quantity of that living mate- 
rial, out of which he built so imperishable a 
a fame. By rough draughts of the one, and 
sketches of the other, they hoped to amuse 
their friends ; as their prospect of amusing, 
then, and even until lately, had that c extent 



It must, however, be acknowledged, that 
b2 



4 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

although this was the ultimate object of the 
pilgrimage ; yet its origin might be traced to 
the natural ripening of that affection which we 
have for an author whose writings peculiarly 
interest us. We have, beyond all question, 
mental, as well as material relatives ; and in 
the world of Poetry and Fiction, there are 
kindred and tribes as certainly as in the world 
of flesh and blood. Nor is it less true, that 
the Bard who speaks most familiarly and ten- 
derly to those passions and feelings that pos- 
sess us most entirely, will ever stand, topping 
the list of all those to whom our spirits are 
affianced. Our admiration of his genius, in 
the first instance, prompts us to peruse all he 
hath written or said : our love and interest in 
the man next sets us in search of all that has 
been said or written concerning him. And, 
lastly, when love and admiration have in a 
regular way begot enthusiasm ; we long to 
see the land that gave him birth, the rivers by 
which he roamed, the woods in which he sang, 
the Walls that kept him warm, yea, even our 
devotion extendeth to the old roof tree that 
strode betwixt him and heaven. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. O 

The spirits with which our three representa- 
tives of immortal mendicity, Edie Ochiltree, 
Jinglin Jock, and the Lang Linker, bad adieu 
to Edina, Scotia's darling' seat ; can only be 
rightly appreciated by those whose senses 
have been long familiarized to the smoke, 
sound and scent of a city ; but to which 
their spirits stubbornly refuse ever to natura- 
lize, from an inborn love of nature, or perhaps, 
from the circumstance of having spent their 
most sasceptible days where— 

" Wild woods grow and rivers row 
Wi' mony a hill between." 

The general appearance which our pilgrims 
exhibited both as to equipage and equipment, 
on the 23d June 1820, as at day break they 
bore away into the high road that leads to 
Lanark, though, it had little in common with 
the dashing of modern Tourists, seemed to a 
considerable extent, to wear the uniform of 
their purpose. Their vehicle, a machine of 
the curricle family, more notable for its capa- 
city and convenience than for the nourish of 
its trappings or the freshness of its fancy, was 
b3 



6 



A PILGRIMAGE TO 



kept rapidly and steadily in motion by a noble 
" aiver" that had frequently with more lum- 
ber behind him, run fifty miles beneath one 
Sun. It moreover contained, besides great 
sufficiency of bottom room, a large cavity or 
cellarage, which, being stowed with the most 
approved sorts of wayfaring victualling, and 
accompanied with almost an exciseable stock of 
liquors, put their appetites quite at ease as to 
bad inns, while the large tartan cloaks in 
which they were severally swaddled, and the 
manner in which the whole man was so pro- 
perly roofed in with the ancient Kilmarnock 
bonnet, seemed a sufficient vouch for the se- 
curity of their skins. 

The morning, at their outset, assumed rather 
a watery look, the hills retaining too long 
their misty nightcaps, which, when weighed 
with the clouds that lay, white and swollen, 
bundled up in the west, certainly made it 
appear considerably under the attachment of 
that old Scotch saw, which warns us— 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 7 

When the cluds are dim as daigh, 
When the swallow flitters laigh, 
When the haur hings on the hill; 
When the leaf is lying still, 
Gif ye'd keep dry, in back and wame, 
Hap ye weel, or haud at hame. 

In the face, however, of ancient wisdom it 
broke pleasantly up, and to their long- town- 
tempered senses the country began to get de- 
lightful. There is, indeed, something pecu- 
liarly delicious in the firstlings of a summer 
morn, when the earth seems as it were in the 
unlimited possession of bird and beast, and 
they sing and gambol away fearlessly, ere 
man comes like a tyrant from his haunt and 
drives them to their nests aand coverts. 

The Jingler when they had passed all sym- 
toms of the city, fell into a sort of reverie, his 
countenance working considerably, and his eye 
flying from object to object, like a swallow 
catching flies, till with a sudden jerk his jaws 
burst asunder, and forth came the following 
in a whirlwind of din: — 
b 4 



8 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

THE JINGLER'S MORNING SONG. 
Give ear unto me Linker, 

And listen Ochiltree — 
For I ha'e na seen a blyther day 

Thae twenty years an' three. 

! my tongue it winna lie my lads, 
This bonny morn o' June, 

My words they come in rhyme lads, 
My breath comes in a tune. 

CHORUS. 

And hurra, and hurra, 
And hurra my merry men, 

1 wadna gi' a June day 

For a' the days I ken. 

Its bra' to see the blyth sun 
Come blinkin' o'er the lea, 

Its sweet to hear the cock-bird 
A singin on the tree. 

A singin' on the tree, my lads, 
An' whistlin' in the lift, 

! it pits the heart of Jinglin Jock 
Into an unco tift. 

And hurra, and hurra, 
Aud hurra my merry men, 

1 wadna' gi' the lintie's sang 

For a' the sangs I ken. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 

We'll tak it canny up the braes 

Syne gi' the beastie head ; 
An' when we fin' a bonny howe, 

We'll sit us down aud feed. 
Our kebbock and our cakes lads, 

Will mak' our meal a treat, 
An' a wee drap o' Jock Barleycorn 

Will mak' the burnies sweet. 

And hurra, and hurra, 

And hurra my merry men, 

I wadna gi' Jock Barleycorn 
For a' the jokes I ken. 



At a good inn upon the confines of that ex- 
tensive moor, that stretches with little inter- 
ruption from the village of Little Vantage to 
the town of Lanark, they made their first halt- 
ing halt ; and though the outside appearance of 
the inn — a lone, wind-withered ancient house — 
promised little, the inside pleasantly belied the 
promise, as an excellent breakfast was served 
with considerable despatch, and despatched 
with a corresponding degree of activity. — 
By the time they were again ready to resume 
their way, the wind had freshened seriously 



10 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

from the west, and the sky had almost thick- 
ened to a storm grey. They mounted, how- 
ever, without any loss of spirits and with their 
tartans high buttoned, their bonnets lowered, 
and their tongues busy, they sported merrily 
away some fourteen miles of Scotland's very 
basest earth. Carnwath Moor, with its south 
and north connections, has with great propriety, 
been called the backbone of the country. It 
is, indeed, a base highland, up to which, the 
softness of summer cannot creep : and though 
the heath may wave abroad its bloom, and the 
marsh bent its white downy banner, it is more 
to declare that summer is in the land, than 
that it is there. Among their other Moorland 
amusements, a tollman was by Edie's dexte- 
rity, manufactured into a good laughing stock ; 
he was a lean, hard, withered -looking thing — 
seemingly nearly related to the heather and 
thistles among which he had grown. Edie 
catching his character, drew out an old fo- 
reign coin, and offered it for payment of the 
toll dues. The old moorcock, on " sighting 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 11 

baith sides o' the shilling", declared, " they 
could na win through his yett for sic like sil- 
ler". Edie assuming a foreign accent, asked 
him, " vats de matter wid de mony" ? " Be- 
cause it disna wear the King's image o' this 
kintra", replied the old boy, " sae canna pass 
my purse neck". It's van great pity you can't 
take my coin, but you may as vel stop me for 
speaking de foreign tongue as carrying de 
foreign money". " Na, na", returned the 
bar-man, getting hot, " that's anither tale — 
it's nae concern o' mine, tho' ye had nae tongue 
at a' — but Goth, gif ye ride on Scotch roads, 
ye maun pay Scotch siller for them, I'll learn 
ye that Monshur Pick-the-paddock," — By this 
time he had put himself into a violent passion, 
and his auditors into a violent fit of laughter 
— so throwing him a coin to his mind, they 
drove on to enjoy it. 

About noon they reached Carnwath, rather 
a tolerable looking village, from which they 
had a fine view of Tinto hill, and truly it was 



12 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

a grand sight to see its huge pinnacle tearing 
in twain the dark clouds that came sailing 
heavily from the west. 

When inspecting the village in search of 
" uncas" they discovered an old woman sit- 
ting spinning in a cottage door, and singing 
an old jacobitical jingle, which, as they had 
not seen in Hogg's collection, they thought 
proper to extract, as the record seemed hurry- 
ing fast out of the reach of compilers. She had 
it, she said, from her father, who was out in the 
45, who sung it as long as he was able, then 
she sung it to him, and during his last illness, 
she declared, the sound of it lightened him 
more than even the singing of psalms. 



THE GOUD UPON CHARLIE. 
Air. — " Owre the water to Charlie.' 

If ye'«d drink yill, and be canty still, 
Sin the breeks has bang'd the kiltie ; 

Wale out the lads wore the white cockads, 
And delight in a jacobite liltie. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 13 

CHORUS. 

Then up wi' the lads wore the white cockads, 

Altho' they be scattered right sarely, 
There's a sough in the land, there's a heart and a hand, 

That may yet put the goud upon Charlie. 

Tho' a poor German daw's got the crap o' the wa' 

And our ain bonny dow it has poucket, 
We hae gude falconers still, and when they get their will, 

They'll put the right dow in the doucket. 

Then up, &c. 

Then keep your blue bonnet a wee ere ye d'on it, 

An keep your claymore frae the stouring, 
Ye may yet hear a horn on a braw simmer mora, 

That will thank ye weel for the scouring. 

Then up, &c. 

Tho' hireling swords, and cauld-blooded words, 

Has yirded the pride o' the thistle ; 
Tho' the bouks in the grun, yet the sauls in a son, 

That may yet gar auld Hanover fistle. 

The country that lies beyond Carnwath, is 
merely a continuation of the moor that pre- 
cedes it ; cultivation, though, in some spots, 
had commenced a sort of battle with nature, 
but it was a losing one, the poor, stinted trees 



14 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

that were doomed to this banishment, seem- 
ing to say to the passengers, " we are frae 
hame." 

" Stuffing keeps out storming", says the 
same wisdom that prognosticated the storm 
by the sky dress of the dawn, and well it was 
for our wanderers to the west that they be- 
lieved implicitly in both, for, scarcely had 
they cleared the village when Tinto began to 
let down the bowels of the clouds upon them ; 
which assisted with a stiff cold breeze and the 
surrounding scenery, gave a summer shower 
all the appearance of a winter blast. Indeed 
it seemed hardly possible for wind and rain to 
have singled out a fitter spot for exhibiting 
their fury to advantage— a bare unhedged 
road, winding through a dusky ocean of heath, 
here and there broken with those grim sepul- 
chres of a former world — a peat moss ; while 
at intervals, amid the dash and howl of the 
performers, the pewet threw in his weeping 
note with all the effect of a big O ! in a tragic 
speech. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 15 

A little before they reached Lanark, how- 
ever, the day broke up, when a new heaven 
and a new earth opened upon them. Passing 
the town, they gave their vehicle to the care of 
a boy and turned into a foot-path that leads 
down the River Clyde, to the fall of Stone- 
byers. They had not proceeded far till 
they were surrounded by a covey of clamorous 
little boys, that seemed to hover about the ca- 
taract like a flight of gad flies preying upon 
passengers. They had picked up a quantity 
of large flashy words that former visitors no 
doubt had dropt ; and though at first, our pil- 
grims were not over fond of such an extensive 
cry of service, they soon got reconciled to 
them from the amusing and laughable way 
that they speckled their boyish chatter with the 
big words they had caught. As every hoard 
hath its head, this little band of harpies had 
likewise theirs. His superiority, however, did 
not consist in exterior. He was a small, thin, 
yellow, ill clad thing ; but there was an alert- 
ness in his movements, a spark in his eye, a 
certain gallantry in the manner he set even his 



16 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

rags a fluttering", and bore himself in the midst 
thereof, that at once distinguished him the 
" Triton of the minnows". When they came 
in sight of the fall, he exclaimed with all his 
dignity mustered — " You are particularly for- 
tunate in visiting the fall to day, the recent 
rains have, you see, swollen the river lip full, 
and dyed the foaming flood a rich brown, if 
you step down there, Gentlemen, until your 
eye clear the impending sprays of that moun- 
tain ash, you will then have the whole volume 
before you at once." — Then turning to one of 
his mates, he proceeded in the same breath, 
though in a different tone and tongue, — " I 
say, Tammy, man, I kent a whittie's nest in at 
the root o' yon rowen tree, I faun'd when it 
was wi' egg an' I telPd Jonny Brown o't ; 
an, tire vile niger, harried it when the young 
cam out, just bare gorbs, to gie to his bri- 
ther's howlet but I gied him something 'ill 
learn him to harry my nest again the dy'st 
thief". — Now, gentlemen, had the state of 
those bank steps allowed you to reach the 
margin of the linn below, the sight would have 



TO THE LAND OF BURNS. 17 

fully compensated your toil, as the whole cata- 
ract is there seen as it were awfully tumbling 
above you ; but the path to day is too slippery 
for the attempt. — Ye' re a big liar, Will Harp, 
1 never drew your set line but ance, an' there 
was naething at it but a black eel, it was 
Jonny Brown that cutted aff the heucks, sae 
was't as sures death, I may never steer. — The 
height of the fall, gentlemen, perpendicularly 
is 84 feet, according to the latest survey, and 
from the smooth water above to the smooth wa- 
ter below, it measures in all 120. It is by all 
allowed, gentlemen, to be one of the first ca- 
taracts in the kingdom". There was some- 
thing truly, in this urchin's facility of change 
and distinctness of utterance, that faintly re- 
minded them of Matthew's £ Bartholemew 
Fair' ; and it was not without reluctance that 
they paid off this clever little epitome of elder 
men, who can speak both coarsely and rashly to 
their inferiors and equals, but who have pick- 
ed and pretty words for their superiors, or 
those they look to gain by. 



18 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

They had not long resumed their seats, 
when a most unanimous cry arose among them 
for dinner, and as they had the materials for 
satisfying such craving in the gig, their busi- 
ness was to find a proper spot for the scene of 
action : this, luckily for the state of their sto- 
machs, soon occurred, for having perceived on 
the road side an opening that led into a wood, 
Edie, the jehu of the party, drove fearlessly 
in, as if it had been a pendicle and pertinent of 
his own manor, until they reached a beautiful 
green spot, where they 'lighted — tied the animal 
to a bush in such a manner that he might en- 
joy the herbs, and with great activity and ad- 
dress discharged the gig of its savoury con- 
tents, lodging them, by the direction of Edie, 
under the shade of a most ponderous and ve- 
nerable oak, one, in fact, that seemed the very 
Adam of the whole forest, where, in short 
space, and with little ceremony, an incredible 
quantity of pork, ham, roast lamb, cheese, 
bread, and whiskey disappeared. After this 
labour was accomplished — We say labour, for 
had any body seen the long-bodied son of 



THE LAND OF BURNS. .19 

the west, Jinglin Jock, digging with his large 
jockteleg into the fat flank of the Westphalia, 
quarrying out portions like rubble work, for 
the purpose of building up the empty stances 
or vacancies that twenty miles ride had shook 
in their food repositories — he would have de- 
clared it labour, aud hard labour too. They 
began to consider where they were seated, and 
finding they were in the vicinity of the Cartlan 
craigs, famous on account of Wallace, and as 
the apparent antiquity of the tree they sat 
under, seemed to warrant the supposition that 
he might have honoured it with his presence, 
their Scotch blood warmed within them — pa- 
triotic toasts were roared abroad, as if they 
wished the whole of Clydsdale should hear 
them, and at last, with a voice that made a 
trifle of the waterfall, they sung " Scots wha 
hae wi' Wallace bled," and tossed up their 
bonnets in the air as if they meant to part 
with them. There is no calculating wheu 
their mirth would have let them leave the oak, 
had not a cow, which was grazing in the 
neighbourhood, instigated, perhaps, by the 
b2 



20 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

melody, began to bellow, and, from the indis- 
tinct manner in which the sound was heard at 
first, amid the other music, made the Jingler 
believe it was the voice of the proprietor, 
coming to pound, fine, or prosecute the party 
for their trespasses ; a cold sweat came upon 
him, his under jaw broke away from its upper 
brother, and he sat fixed and immovable, as if 
the strain of the cow had conjured him to a 
stone. — Another tune from the same min- 
strel, satisfied them regarding the author, but 
the Jingler's harmony was gone, and they 
were obliged to leave their royal canopy, to 
humour the fears of this unfortunate victim of 
brutality. 

Their ride was now for about seven miles 
down the rich banks of the Clyde, where, at 
intervals, were seen, through trees, luxuri- 
antly stuck over with infant fruit, the wide- 
gushing stream, pleasant corn-fields, fenced 
in with woods and orchards, with many a fair 
mansion, and neat cottage, giving life and 
interest to scenes as fair, when seen by the 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 21 

soft light of a summer evening, as any that 
our pilgrims jointly declared, ever extorted 
praise. The very human beings of these re- 
gions seemed distinct from their moorland 
neighbours, for, instead of the cold hankering 
look that accompanied the answers of the lat- 
ter, they had free replies to their queries, from 
stout, merry-looking men, and plump, smiling 
lassies, affording matter of vaunt to the Linker, 
who had his favourite theory thereby counte- 
nanced, viz. — that the mind and manners are 
greatly moulded by the party's locality 

About five o'clock they halted at a country 
inn (adjoining the village of Dalserf) plea- 
santly settled in the corner of an orchard. 
The landlord was a happy looking young man, 
and apparently fast filling with that sort of 
intelligence which so well becomes a red nose 
and a round belly — the first of which, by the 
bye, seemed a promising bud, and the latter 
was evidently putting forth. In the course of 
some discburse they had with him, he hap- 
3 



2% A PILGRIMAGE TO 

pened to repeat a few lines of Blind Harries' 
Wallace ; this was sufficient to send our Pil- 
grims full cry through all the corners and co- 
vers of his intellectual domain, and though 
they found nothing but the common vermin of 
love ditties and garlands ; he informed them 
that an old woman presently employed upon 
his potatoc field had, he believed, some eight 
days singing of old songs, among which, 
were some concerning his " Country's Savi- 
our." Had this man of corks spoke of a gold 
mine in his field, it could hardly have called 
forth the fervour with which they demanded 
where this land lay. The landlord, with a 
ready ale-selling civility, conducted; them in- 
continently to the field, where half a dozen of, 
the fair sex, (fy upon't) were beating with 
hoes the weeds from the young crop. The 
group was composed of .personages of divers 
ages, from cherry- cheeked fifteen, up to the 
old beldam, with her yelLow haftet pinched and 
puckered* with tfye finger of time, like a quilted 
petticoat. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 22 

A feW words from the landlord were suffi- 
cient to bring the party from the middle of the 
field.- — " Here's three gallant gentlemen, 
Girzy", said he addressing the oldest, * wha 
wudfain hear ye croon owre ane o' your auld 
rants". The old woman modestly wished 
they might not think their time mispent ; and 
without further ceremony, they all doubled 
themselves down, either upon the headridge 
or edge of ■ the ditch, the younger ones bund- 
led up themselves to smirk and titter, the 
elder to enjoy a blast " o' the lunting pipe," 
Edie settled in front of the " Auld wiffie" to 
catch her song at the purest, while Jock and 
the Linker, mixing with the red cheeked part 
of the company, kept filling up the pauses 
with laughter, produced from sundry queer 
questions they put privately to their partners. 

The ancient songstress had certainly, at that 

date, lost both her beauty and her voice -, yet 

there was the look of a contented spirit 

wrought in among her wan furrows, and a 

c4 



24 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

complaisance, and a wish to please, wove into 
her broken tones, that far more than compen- 
sated for the absence of both. It is, indeed, 
something truly heart-taking to see, the old, 
and stricken in years, throw lightly aside, the 
recollection of their frailty and their furrows, 
and cheerfully attempt to amuse the young. — 
The spirit that can taunt at such efforts, or 
scan the doing, without glancing at the in- 
tent, should have been born among the Caffres 
of the Cape, and remained there. 

Circumstances and situation give, no doubt, 
the same sauce to mental, that health and ap- 
petite give to culinary treats. It is, therefore, 
partly owing to this sauce of circumstance, 
that the following old song was so loudly 
cheered ; which, had it come from the press of 
John Moren, last Speech and Ballad Printer 
to the Blackguards of a certain City, had, pos- 
sibly been held expensive, " at the small 
charge of one penny," even in company with 
three or four other " Excellent New Songs," 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 



25 



furnished in front with a decent cut of the 
Devil. 



THE KNIGHT OF ELDERSLIE. 

A CLYDSDALE DITTY. 

The southern loun's, wrought meikle skaith 

Unto our west countrie, 
He has ta'en the gear, but he's gotten the wrath 

O' the Knight o' Elderslie. 

Sir William's ta'en his sword in hand, 

It was well proved an' good — 
Three waps o't roun' his buirdly breast 

Has cleared a Scottish rood. 

Upon his lip there is a vow, 

Upon his brow a ban, 
He'll learn his faemen their ain march, 

If it may be learn'd by man. 

To see him in his weed o' peace 

Wi' the dimple on his chin, — 
O stood there e'er a fairer Knight 

A lady's love to win ? 



2& A PILGRIMAGE TO 

To^ee him in his shell o' steel 
Wi' his braid sword by his thie — 

O stood there e'er a braver Knight 
To redd a hail countrie ? 

Step out, step out, my gallant Knight, 
By thysel thou shanna stride, 

Tho' white the lock lie on my brow, 
An' my shirt o' mail hing wide. 

Blaw up, there's gallant hearts in Kyle- 
An' the upper ward o' Clyde, 

Blaw up, blaw up, a thousand spears, 
Will glitter by thy side. 

There's mony bow to goud, I true, 
There's raae that bow thro' dread, 

But blaw a blast, thou wight Wallaee 
An' luck for man an' steed. 

Oh ! wha cou'd stick by pleugh an' spade,. 
When a Southern's in the Ian' ; 

O I wha wud lag whan Wallace Wight, 
Has ta'en his sword in ban' 1 

To him that dares a righteous deed, 
A righteous strength is given, 

An' him that fights for Liberty, 
Will be free in earth or heaven, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 27 

From Dalserf they took across the country 
for Strathaven. 

After a most disagreeable ride, for about 
eight miles, upon a wretched up and down pa- 
rish road, made, or rather unmade, as Edie 
observed, for the purpose of killing horses 
and making men curse, they reached the town 
of Strathaven, where, in an excellent inn, and 
oyer an excellent supper, they laughed over 
the pleasures, and talked over the aches, that 
forty-six miles riding had bequeathed to 
them. For, although, such talk would have 
made the man merry, who is one half of 
his life out, and the other half in the saddle ; 
yet, to our pilgrims, whose habits were ra- 
ther sedentary, and who might be said to 
journey through life on their bottoms, such 
stirring and jolting was new, and new ha- 
bits of any kind, require use to make them 
fit. It is not therefore, to be wondered at, 
as they stretched out their limbs to the fire, 
and [ their hands to the glass, that Edie's 



28 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

thoughts and voice wandered into the follow- 
ing old chaunt ; or, that the spirits of his bre- 
thren rolled sweetly up with it in chorus, spin- 
ning, and twining it away like a three-twist 
cord. 

THE INGLE SIDE. 

It's rare to see the morning bleeze 

Like a bonfire frae the sea, 
It's fair to see the burnie kiss 

The lip o' the flowery lea ; 
An' fine it is on green hill side 

When hums the hinny bee, 
But rarer, fairer, finer far, 

Is the ingle side to me. 

Glens may be gilt wi' gowans rare, 

The birds may fill the tree, 
And haughs hae a' the scented ware, 

That simmer's growth can gie 
But the canty hearth where cronies meet, 

An' the darling o' our e'e, 
That maks to us a warl' complete, 

O the ingle side's for me. 

Next morning our pilgrims, in spite of yes- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 29 

terday's fatigues, and eke the tempting softness 
of their couches, had inspected the town and 
vicinity of Strathaven, ere the hand of the hired 
labourer had lifted his tools ; and, shortly af- 
ter they were to be seen snugly seated in their 
travelling machine, upon that extensive moor, 
famous and notable as the scene of the memo- 
rable struggle of Drumclog. The Jingler, 
who pretended acquaintance with the spot, be- 
gan to enlarge upon the battle, and seeing 
here and there in the fields several large co- 
lumns of rough granite set up, he, with the 
full consent aud concurrence of the other pil- 
grims, immediately rated and reckoned them 
as the memorials and death-stances of some 
great men on that fearful day ; just as this 
opinion was settled, and severally attested, 
they overtook a countryman, going forth, 
spade in hand, to the moss-digging. After 
saluting him, according to custom, they, with 
a look of shrewd discovery, asked him, what 
memorable incident in the engagement does 
that stone mark ? pointing to one of these 



30 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

erections. The man turning up a puzzled 
countenance, as if he had been questioned by 
a foreigner, replied, " What's your wull, sir ?" 
" I mean," said the Jingler, " to what par- 
ticular in the battle o' Drumclog does that 
monument point ?" a The battle o' Drum- 
clog !" returned the clown, ** wae, I canna 
say ony thing anent that ; but the way that 
thae stanes are staunen there ; gif it's them 
ye mean, is just to let the laird's kye claw 
themselves on, as ye see there's nae trees in the 
parks." Luckily for our pilgrims, this son of 
the soil had no spice of quizzery in him ; on 
the contrary, so much were they taken with 
his good-natured bluntness, that they dis- 
mounted, and by the side of a rill, which tem- 
pered their " gude Scotch drink", they drank 
with him their morning dram. 

They were now within a few miles of the 
shire of Ayr, upon a fine, gentle, sloping high- 
way, and keeping up a spirited march to the 
tune of the merry larks, with which Edie 



THE LAND OT BURNS. 31 

thought the sky, in this quarter, had an extra 
supply, longing, and ready, for an extraor- 
dinary burst, whenever they entered that far- 
famed shire. This, the stone on the road no 
sooner announced, than each pilgrim, to the 
extent of the crying ability in his possession, 
set up an " all hail" ! to the land of Burns, 
flourishing, at the same time, their " kilmar- 
nocks" manfully round their heads, even until 
their throats and arms were severally fatigued. 
After a refreshing pause, they burst into "Ayr- 
shire Lasses", at which they continued steadi- 
ly until they reached a farm house, where, 
upon the grass plot of its " kail yard", a 
" sonsy hizzy" was spreading clothes. The 
Jingler, whose spirits were in a spring tide to- 
day, accosted her with " Gude morning to ye, 
my bonny lassie, and mony a fair stitch may ye 
wash as white — aye, as the lilly hand that rubs 
them". " Thanks to ye, sir", said the girl, 
" for your mony wally words ; but 1 doubt gif 
I dinna mak my claes a wee thing whiter than 
my han's, the gude wife will think they hae 



32 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

gotten little glide o' the sapples." " Weef, 
then", returned the Jingler, drawing largely 
upon his stock of gallantry' " I'm a seceder 
from the gude wife, altho', aiblins she be a wo- 
man o' nae sma' rummelgumshon, for ony 
thing that has a likeness to a fair creature, 
like thee is far dearer to me than gif it shamed 
the lily o' the valley, the goud o' Ophir, or the 
the cedars o' Lebanon". She replied, laugh- 
ing, that if he keepit ay in that mind, it would 
be a bra business to hae his arle penny in her 
pouch, " but teth I dread", she continued, 
" gif ye hired at Beltan, there woud be ither 
words amang your win' or auld Halla' day, 
for ye ken, its a bonny burn that's aye clear, 
and sweet lips are aye dear". " By the Land 
o' Robin", cried the Linker, in great heat, 
" thou'rt a canty Queen. I could hae sworn 
it was Ayrshire we were in by the blink o' 
that blue e'e ; and the smirk o' that sweet 
mou might wile e'en Mess John frae the pul- 
pit, far less a daft chiel frae a whisk— tak 
care, lads, till I light". So saying, he made 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 33 

an effort to leave the gig, which Edie observ- 
ing, applied the whip, and drove him, growl- 
ing and kissing his hand, away from the 
tempter. 

About eight o'clock, they came in sight of 
the pleasant village of D — — 1, in the vicinity 
of which, the Pilgrim John, had sown his 
wild oats — that unshackled, that pure portion 
of our existence — when, like the colt, we kick 
and scamper about as the spirit bids, ere the 
world hath taken us (like the horse jockey) 
and broke us into dull posting and laborious 
uses. His heart waxing fuller and fuller at 
the sight of the hills and valleys of his na- 
tive shire, he was at last, under the necessity 
of venting it a little in 

THE JINGLER'S HAMEWARD HYMN. 

Esfch whirl o' the wheel — 

Each step brings me nearer 
The hame o' my youth — 

Every object gets dearer. 

Thae hills an thae huts/ 
An' the trees on that green ; 
D 



34 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Losh ! they glour ia my face 
Like some kindly auld frien\ 

E'en the brutes they look social 
As gif they would crack ; 

And the sang o' the bird 
Seems to welcome me back. 

O ! dear to our souls 

Is the hand that first fed us ; 

And dear is the land 

And the cottage that bred us. 

And dear are the comrades 
With whom we once sported ; 

But dearer the maiden 
Whose love we first courted. 

Joy's image may perish, 
E'en grief die away — 

But the scenes of our youth 
Are recorded for aye. 



In passing through the village, John was 
recognized by a number of his former school- 
mates, who soon brought too and boarded the 
curricle ; attacking him at all quarters, with 
" Eh, man, is this you ?" " Dear sirs, how's 



THE I AND OF BURNS. 35 

a' wi' ye." " Gude safe us, man, how hae ye 
been, &c. &c. To which he kept up a sort of 
running reply of " Very weel, thank ye", at 
the same time thrusting out his hand amongst 
them, which they shook with great friendly, 
and, almost, dangerous violence. 

It is, with a mixed sort of feeling, that we 
meet after a lapse of years, with those early 
friends, whose portraits Ave have treasured up 
in the inner chambers of our heart. We 
smile, perhaps, on seeing one whom we parted 
with in beauty's bud, blown into full flower ; 
but we sigh, as the eye wanders over the pale 
cheek of her we left in the bloom, and fret at 
the spoiler Time ; " who mows the rose away, 
and sets the lilly there". 

With some difficulty they got the Jingler 
and his first friends disengaged, when half a 
mile's further riding, brought them to W — hs, 
the- residence of his father. — A welcome needs 
something more than words to speak its since- 
rity : but there is a certain brightening of the 
d 2 



36 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

eye, and a squeeze of the hand, as if the heart 
pulled the nerves, that admits of no dispute ; 
such symptoms may always be depended on 
as genuine — and such it was our pilgrims' 
bliss to meet on " Bonny Irvine side". 

The forenoon was mostly spent in visiting 
some beautiful and classic spots. — " Galston 
Moor", o'er which the " glorious sun" looks 
upon the " Mauchline belles", being quite at 
the door, while " Loudon's bonny woods and 
braes", together with " Patie's Mill", are 
their near neighbours. Indeed, the whole sur- 
rounding scenery was full of strong poetical 
provocatives, being generally in that half 
wild, half cultivated state, where neither the 
broad, rich meadow gives monotony, nor the 
bare, bleak mountain disgust. Here the 
Jingler was literally at home, and a pleasant 
sight it was to see him take old friends by the 
hand, and give and receive histories since 
their last meeting. In stumbling upon spots 
that had felt him with a lighter foot, he broke 
away into long rhapsodies on the pleasure of 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 37 

play-days, and coming to a wood he had seen 
— nay helped to plant — some twenty years 
ago, he could talk in prose no longer, so forth 
came — 

THE JINGLER'S TALE OF A TREE. 

Look, neighbours, do ye see 
That giant o' a tree ? 
Wou'd ye think that I hae seen 
That stately tent o' green, 
A finger length o' timber — 
A thing so light and limber, 
That a crow, intent to bigg, 
Might hae pickt it for a twig 
An' wove it among straws, 
Such a trifle then it was — 
Tho' now ye see the crows 
Might hatch upon its boughs. 
Thae trees, that 'hale plantation 
Hauds the glen in occupation — 
Faith I hae seen the day, 
For all their huge array, 
When with little stress I could 
Have carried the hale wood : 
Tho' the smallest now ye see 
Might be my gallows tree ! 
Lord have mercy upon me ! ! 

d3 



38 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

The idea that concluded the Jingler's " Tale" 
attracting and involving so many violent and 
painful reflections, obstructed their mirth for 
a time, and they moved on, solemnly musing* 
upon these apparent and frightening facts — 
that a man may not only " cut a stick to break 
his own head", but that he may likewise 
plant a tree with his hands that may come to 
hurt his throat. These unpleasant, though 
exalted reflections, were pleasantly interrupted 
by meeting a fair dame, to whom the Jingler 
flew lovingly, and was as lovingly received ; 
sweet converse and kind enquiries ensued, un- 
til, "like a summer's cloud", the dame's matri- 
monial engagements came across his recollec- 
tion, and then, with the valour of a man, who 
makes inclination the vassal of honour, he 
stiffened his talk into cold ceremony, and bade 
her adieu. He thought proper, however, as 
the incident sat a considerable time on his re- 
collection, to commemorate it in rhyme, where- 
of the tenor follows : 

It was you, Christy, you 
First warm'd this heart I trow j 



THE LAND OT BURNS. 3£ 

Took my stomach frae my food — 
Put the devil in my blood — 
Made my doings out o' season—. 
Made my thinkings out o' reason-* 
It was you, Christy lass, 
Brought the Jingler to this pass. 

But when amaist dementit, 
My sair heart got ventit — 
O, what happy days we'd then, 
'Mang the hazels o' yon glen! 
Aft by bonny Irvine side 
We hae lain row'd in a plaid, 
Frae the settle o' the night 
To the income o' the light. 

An' Christy, faith I see 
By the twinkle o' thy e'e— 
An Christy, lass, I fin' 
By a something here within— 
That tho' ye've ta'en anither, 
An tho' ye be a mither, 
There's an ember in us yet, 
That might kindle — were it fit. 

Then fair ye weel, my fair ane, 
And fare ye weel my rare ane— 
I ance thought my bonny leddy, 
That thy bairns wou'd ca't me deddy. 
d4 



^0 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

But that bra' day's gane by — 

Sae happy may ye lie, 

An' canty may ye be, 

Wi' the man that sou'd been me. 



After dinner, they revisited the village, 
where some fine specimens of Scottish kind- 
ness were presented to them, and there, like- 
wise, they had the pleasure of encountering 
the ancient Ayrshire tea-drinking-, or " four 
hours", as it is there termed — toasted cheese 
upon cakes being presented to the first cup j 
wheat bread and butter to the second ; and to 
the third, or even fourth, if pressing can ef- 
fect it, a rousing glass of whiskey. This 
meal met with the unqualified praise of our 
pilgrims in all its parts, but they seemed par- 
ticularly intoxicated with the spirit of its ter- 
mination. The village being a manufacturing 
one, after tea, they went through a number of 
their workshops, where they saw at work se- 
veral female weavers. This sort of proba- 
tionary state, they were told, most of the mo- 
thers in the village had gone through, but on 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 41 

marrying they generally gave up the " box and 
babbins" for a " baby and a blanket". In 
general they seemed stout, healthy-looking 
girls ; still their situation seemed a very un- 
seemly one ; and though in Homer's days, 
Penelope might look a highly poetical and 
interesting figure at the loom, yet in the days 
of Edie Ochiltree, Jinglin Jock, and the Lang 
Linker, so " dowy and dowdy" did the she 

weavers of D 1 appear, that even Jock, 

flaming as he was, could not afford them a 
couplet. Indeed, he signified his regret, " that 
a bonny Ayrshire lassie should, instead o' hand- 
ling the in work o' a house, or tripping amang 
the green grass, be condemned to mak her 
bread by such unluesomelike thumping and 
kicking". 

Before sunset, they again reached W hs, 

when Edie, who was always in search of an- 
tiques, discovered a choice collection of old 
ballads, dream books, mole books, jest books, 
&c. &c. compiled, as is frequently done in 
the country, by purchasing, now and then, 



12 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

from passing pedlars a pennyworth of their 
\erse or prose, and stitching it to their former 
stock, which often occasions most amusing 
combinations, such as " George Buchanan," 
or "Paddy from Cork", lyinglike brothers with 
" The Cloud o' Witnesses," ami "Wise Willy 
and Witty Eppie," in the arms of $ Alexander 
Peden." The present pile was huge, seeing it 
was 50 years since its foundation was laid, and 
some of its songs they considered scarce, 
among which, may be reckoned the following, 
entitled, 

THE WAESOME DEATH O* CHRISTY FORD. 
Tune — * Tamlane' 

it was nae Hallowday, I trow, 

It was nae Beltan tide — 
But winter win's owre bauldly blevr, 

For feckless folk to bide. 

The lee-light that December gies> 

Was lairing in the wast, 
Whan Christy wi' her ora claea, 

Was boun' to dree the blast. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 43 

Waesuck for wight, on sic a night, 

That's far frae hauld or hame ; 
But, O ! waes me, for them that flit 

Ere term tide's fully gane. 

An' wac war some in Gentree ha' 

Whan Christy took her plaid ; 
An' sair the bonny bairnies grat, 

An' hecht her aye to bide. 

She kissed them ance, she kissed them twice, 

Wi' heart owre girt to speak ; 
But heavy, heavy, war the tears 

Cam rapping frae her cheek. 

Out owre the buirded burn she gat, 

Out owre the bourtree slap — 
An' slowly wan she thro' the broom, 

For steerless was her stap. 

Aye lightly may ye loup, maidens, 

Wha's hearts nae sorrows ga' — 
An' lightly, lightly, may ye loup 

Wha's waists are jimp an' sma\ 

I cou'd nae ban the wily thief 

Wha steals to fen' his need ; 
Nor yet wou'd I the wight that's wrang'd, 

That straiks his wranger dead. 



44 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

But, Rab o' Barnton, thou boots 
A heavier ban than mine — 

An' gin we meet on yird, that spot 
Shall kep my blood or thine. 

Now dark and grusome grew the night, 
As 'twould be the death o' a' — 

For first their cam the slushy sleet, 
An' syne the drifting sna\ 

She's waigled owre Knockgirron Moor 
Owrecome wi' cauld and care j 

But when she gat to Gariloup, 
Her legs they dow nae mair. 

O ! had I foun' thee, Christy, there, 
Whan yet thy lip was red — 

Afore the last o' mony a tear 
Was frozen on thy e'elid. 

Afore the low an' heavy moan 
That loosed thy soul for heaven, 

I'd gripped thee to my breast bane, 
An' a' that's by forgiven. 

The sna' was now her bed sae white, 
The drift soun was her sheet, 

The wild win' sung her last bain' 
An' soun', soun' was her sleep. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 45 

The morning raise on banks an' braes, 

On fields an' forests fair ; 
It wauken'd burdies frae the bough 

An' outlers frae their lair ; 
But she that lies in Gariloup, 

Nae morn will wauken mair. 

There's an' auld wife wins by Girran side 

Was a mither ere yestreen, 
Now waesuck she maun bairnless die, 

Altho' she die or e'en. 

For villains there's a gallows tree 

Wha kill by gash or stab, 
But wharfore does it faik the dog 

Wha kills like Barnton's Rab ? 



The hour had now arrived when their wor- 
thy and venerable entertainer proceeded, as 
was his wont, to finish and wind up the du- 
ties of the day, after the fashion so feelingly 
described in the " Cottar's Saturday Night." 
— Any one who has witnessed, in the true 
spirit of grateful holiness, " the Priest-like fa- 
ther read the sacred page", must have, with 
the immortal bard exclaimed — 



46 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

' Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's every grace, except the heart C 

Pompous display, and refined composition, 
may assist in keeping us awake in our Sunday 
seats ; the eye may be pleased with the orator, 
and the ear with the oration ; still, our immor- 
tal part is left untouched, to commune at will 
with the earth. But it is not so when true 
heart-bred piety bends before his Maker, and, 
in the upolished language of his fathers, pours 
out his gratitude and praise. He employs no 
earthly trickery to catch the ear of the crea- 
ture, as he seems to be aware of no presence 
but the Creator, and, should the pious wor- 
shipper, be heavy with years, leaning as it 
were, over the awful edge of eternity, the 
pouring forth of his soul seems, like the out- 
goings of Noah's dove, in search of a place, 
where the worn and weary spirit, may at last 
repose in peace. 

This evening devotion, independent of its 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 47 

eternal utility, appeared to our pilgrims as an 
admirable partition betwixt the day and night; 
the quiet, solemn thoughts, which it is calcu- 
lated to produce, being a far better and surer 
guarantee for a sound and dreamless sleep, 
than when the anxious thoughts, or noisy mer- 
Timent of the day follow us up to our pillow. 
— This idea, was no doubt suggested by the 
profound sleep, with which our pilgrims sepa- 
rated the second, from the third day of their 
journey. 

The ensuing day being Sunday, our pil- 
grims, from the absence of that common 
bustle, which distinguishes a country life, were 
allowed to sleep deeper into the day than 
they intended. Indeed, in all well-regulated 
families of the West, those labours, or duties 
of a noisy nature, are either executed on Sa- 
turday night, or reprieved until Monday, that, 
as no rude stroke was heard at the building of the 
house of the Lord, none may disturb the so- 
lemn repose of his sabbath. The kitchen, in par- 
ticular, undergoes a complete change ; instead 



48 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

of being filled, as on other days, with all sort 
of sounds, from the chirp of the infant chick, 
up to the boom of the big wheel, you hear only 
the clatter of your shoe on the sanded floor ; 
the hum of flies, or the buzz of a captive 
wasp upon the window. 

Without, all undergoes a corresponding 
change, " the mattock and the hoes" rest 
by either side of the door ; the plough sticks 
up to the shoulders in the furrow, and the cart 
stands in the court with its shafts reverenti- 
ally pointed to heaven. Even the lower ani- 
mals, seem, in some degree, tempered to the 
day ; the old watch dog, having no visitors to 
announce, no beggars to bark at, lays aside not 
a little of his every day din, while pussy, pur- 
ring unmolested by the fire, seems, for a time, 
to have forgot her week day wickedness. 
The " feathered throng", from the removal 
of those rural sounds, that generally mingle 
with their notes, appear to have a sabbath song ; 
the cock crows in a more solemn key, and even 
the hen, as she tells on the dunghill what she 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 49 

has done in the loft, seems to have a Sunday- 
cackle. 

Then may be seen the labouring man ; his 
step slow and broken, with his brawney hands 
folded up and reposing in his pockets, as he 

" Walketh forch to view the corn, 
An' snuff the caller air." 

He hath sold the strength of his arm, and the 
sweat of his brow, during six days, but on 
this, he hath no tasker but his own taste ; no 
master but his Maker : he washes away the soil 
of the hireling, and puts on, with his Sunday 
coat, a look of reverence and independence. 

After breakfast, our pilgrims soon convinced 
themselves, that the low monotonous sounds 
that prevailed within, keeping up a lulling 
tattoo upon the drum of the ear, were likely 
soon to lay them asleep ; to avoid which, they 
stept out into the fresh fields, and in a little, 
settled themselves on a shady spot by the river 
side, that commanded the view of a kirk gate. 
John, however, whose thoughts when let loose, 

E 



50 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

like the carrier pigeon, were always flying* 
back to the lady of his love, crept away from 
the rest into a more retired nook, evidently 
big with something that struggled for utter- 
ance. He had not long absented himself, 
when the Church path began to take on its 
load : — first came the aged and infirm, obliged 
to take the road earliest, as stiffness and corns 
obliged them to be longest upon it ; then fol- 
lowed in little bands, the sober, careful looking 
family man, with his wife and children, and 
lastly came the young men and maidens, light 
of step, and light of heart, little thinking 
that as they were fast gaining ground on their 
elders, they were likewise fast making up to 
their cares and their corns. 

Few men who have passed, or are passing, 
the green years of courtship, need be told that 
a fair creature in a grove, her gentle ankle 
toying with the wood flower, and her fair arms 
with the tender spray, is an object, superior 
beyond all reckoning, to the smart gaudy 
thing that wantonly danees over the flags, and 






THE LAND OF BURNS. 51 

glitters against painted walls ; to the one, the 
hand and heart are tasked at a salute, and how 
do ye do ? while to the other, the bosom opens 
like a church door, and the arms spread abroad 
like the boughs of a wall tree. To our pil- 
grims therefore, who had both been extensive 
practitioners of woodland courtship, the femi- 
nine part of this last group, as they fluttered 
their white muslin and ribbons down the wind- 
ing lane, against the deep green foliage, were 
particularly interesting, and as they disap- 
peared amidst the trees and bushes, at its 
further extremity, they shook themselves up 
with a sigh, as one does on the vanishing of a 
pleasant dream. 

" Can you tell me Mr. Lang" said Edie, 
as the procession closed, who had observed 
that tho' most of the lassies * were in the 
fashion shining,' yet monstrous ! 

* Their coats were kilted which did plainly shaw, 
Their straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw." 

66 can you tell me the meaning of this strange 
nakedness on the land -?" the Linker held it 

e2 



52 THE LAND OF BURNS. 

to be merely a piece of rural economy, obtain- 
ing most in the west of Scotland on account of 
frequent rains rendering the paths oftener bad ; 
and it being also, as a matter of health, better 
to have the feet dry when in church than 
comfortable when coming, as he declared they 
had always shoes and stockings in their pos- 
session, carried generally in their laps, but 
used like their bibles, only when engaged in 
worship. Edie, however, on the contrary, 
thought he perceived a vestige of popery in it, 
as walking barefooted in catholic countries, on 
flinty roads, is a very common mode of doing 
penance, and consequently deemed it a relic of 
the " great whore" that had skulked amongst 
them since the Reformation. 

While they were thus attempting to hunt 
down this barefooted custom by conjectures — 
loitering carelessly amongst the flower-bearing 
herbs, and enjoying the cool river breeze, that 
came wandering through the bushes to their 
bower, — John re-appeared with 

1 Fire in his eye, and paper in his hand.' 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 53 

" In the name o' the nine" cried Edie, 
" what sort of a brain-web is this you have 
been weaving, is't a sonnet to a bumbee, or a 
monody to a dead mushroom ??' " No Edie" he 
replied, " it neither touches upon insect nor 
fungus, so should not affect either you or your 
brother ; its nothing less than a pretty half- 
yard o' tenderness to my darling in Duneddin." 
" Truly its a pleasant joke" said the Linker, 
" to hear one speak o' a particular darling 
who measures out bales o' love to every thing 
he meets under forty years of age, and a 
bonnet. Your love letters Jock, should be 
like state letters, — printed circulars." 

" What a black interpretation to put upon 
my fair general loving kindness for nature's 
« noblest works ;' why lads, ye seem not to 
understand that a right built he^rt ought to be 
like a stately mansion, where, though it be 
under tack to one particular tenant, is still 
roomy enough to take in a stranger now and 
then, aye, and entertain them nobly too, with- 
out at all infringing on the lease of the legal 
e3 



54: A PILGRIMAGE TO 

occupier. O confound your sma' scrimped 
butt and ben hearts that barely ha'e accom- 
modation for one lodger ; give me the man 
whose door, and whose heart stands ever open 
to honest men an' bonny lassies ; for in the 
words of the gallant Sterne, I declare sternly, 
that he who hath not a love for the whole sex 
cannot have it for one.' But listen, and be 
converted; — 

Dear Jean, 

Here while the ither twa are lyeing 
Ahint, a buss, and ident spying 
The kintra bodies kirkward hyeing 

To furm or pew, 
I wi' my head and han' am trying 

A verse to you. 

An' tho' the Irvine by me flows, 

A stream, weel lik'd, ye may suppose ; 

An' tho* my e'en, an' lug, an' nose, 

Are feasted fine, 
Still backward to auld Reekie goes 

The rovin min'. 

In truth, we're queer, inconstant craft,--- 
Whyles hard'ned when we sou'd be saft — 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 55 

Whyles dowie when we sou'd be daft, 

Against the grain ; 
An' whan we luck for pleasure aft 

We meet wi' pain. 

But Jeannie, lass, I maun admit, 

Up to this date that here I sit, 

We've met wi' nought but pleasure yet. 

The very best ; 
An' faith we're e'en a canty kit 

As ere draive west. 

Slee, wily Edie, an' the ither - • 
That creature like a greyhun's brither— 
Hae been sae wud, my honest mither 

Thought they'd the vapours, 
An' wiser folk had ta'en a swither— 

To seen their capers. 

As for mysel— but that's a theme 

I'd ablins better let alane— 

Faith I've been nether ' lag nor lame' 

To play a stick ; 
Aitho' in naething bad the name 

O' blackguard trick. 

It aften seems to me surprising, 
( Ye'U ferly at my moralizing,) 
That chiels wi' right afore them rising 
As plain as parritch— 

e4 



56 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Will listen to the deil's advising 

An' scorn their carrfcch. 

A lad may gie an antran sten', 
Ayont the prudent scores o' men ; 
But when he maks mischief his en' 

Wi' spirit willin— 
Its then the thoughtless fool ye ken 

Frae settled villain. 

Some folk are high an' low by fits— 
An' some are mean to fill their guts— 
But gif a deed o' mine e'er pits 

Rogue to my name ; 
Say, then, the Jingler's tint his wits, 

His reason's gane. 

Now, Jean, I wou'd na think it queer 

Gif ye soud ax yoursel just here, 

" What's set the Jingler thus to clear 

" His gaits to me ; 
" As I had ony right to speer 

"What they maybe?" 

The truth is, Jeannie, lass, I fin', 
That in this wicked warl' there's ane, 
That if she lays nae wilfu' sin 

Upon my back, 
I dinna gie a puddin' pin 

How ithers crack. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 57 

But fareweel, lass, for faith the sun 

Ayont the crap o' Heaven has run, 

An's westward hitching to the grun— 
Sae we maun in ; 

WT spoon an' plate—right helly fun- 
To stent our skin. 

Ance mair fairweel, and min' this Jean- 
Tell ilka kin' enquiring frien', 
That in this Ian' o' pastures green 

An' flower an' flud— 
Our feeding like our fun has been 

Baith great an' gude. 

An' fare ye weel again. Like twa 
Are sweert to part, but maun awa'~ 
I turn to say, that like a wa' 

Or as a rock— 
Ye hae a frien'— aye worth them a'— 

In Jinglin' Jock, 



Having dined, the inmates of the house, 
and by their example, our pilgrims dispersed 
themselves about the apartment, each with 
there bible, or " gude buik," to study apart, 
until, in the face of conviction, inclination, 
and conscience, the majority of the party read 



58 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

themselves asleep. The heaviest, dullest part 
of a long sunny summer day is, without doubt, 
the afternoon ; the very birds then take a sort 
of refreshing drowse to prepare them for the 
exertions of the evening ; the delicate flowers 
— even the hardy " Mountain Daisy" — looks 
languishing to the west for the dewy breeze of 
eve. The Jingler, who occupied a snug birth 
within " rax o' the ingle lug," was among 
the first to " steek" his book and eye. His 
vicinity to the simmering of the tea-kettle 
certainly considerably assisted the author in 
gaining this victory over the spirit. He had, 
however, commenced when awake, a sonnet 
to the tea-kettle, which he continued to prose- 
cute when in the " dead thraw," between 
sleeping and waking, even some of it he 
thinks was composed when " clean awaV 
Indeed, it bears internal evidence of this, for 
to say the least of it, it is a very sleepy piece. 

LINES TO A TEA KETTLE. 

Tho' to me it is a feast, 
Whan tfee morning leaves tbe east* 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 59 

To hear ilk merry thing 

That can whistle, chirp, or sing,— 

Be its helly on the fluds- 

Be its seat upon the wuds— 

Or its wing amang the cluds™ 

Cry out wi' a' its might. 

A welcome to the light. 

Yet on drowsy afternoon 
There is naething like the croon 
Or curmurrin o' the kettle- 
Be it tin or capper metal— 
Wfien wi' glancin' han' and pour 
tt sits clockin o'er the low— 
Oh ! the goudspink on the timmcr 

naething to thy simmer. 

The very sweetest strain 
Aften speaks o' days are gane— 
Sae whatever bless it brag, 
In the hiney there's a jag- 
But thee— thy saddest hum 
Still talks o' joys to come— 
And thy wildest minstrelsy 
Cries for butter, toast, and tea. 
Thour't an instrument, I wot, 
Without ae gloomy note. 

I declare, as I'm a sinner, 
Its a cordial after dinner, 



60 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

On an easy chair to sit, 
Wi' the fender 'neth your fit, 
While in the deafening ear 
Thy drowsy hum we hear— 
Till it steals us clean aW 
Like a babie's hushiba— 
Syne we're aff, in visions sweet, 
To whar flowers lie in the weet 
Or Beltan lammies bleat. 

Then to wauken frae our dream 
As the sugar or the cream 
Plays plout into the cup— 
Hech, how happy we luck up 
To the smirkin friens lean o'er hs 
An' the food that reeks afore us. 
O, by Jingo ! its exceeding- 
Its the Paradise o' feeding. 

Ill fetching a walk at the dew-fall of the 
day, our trio fell in with a fine canny cracky 
body. He had been born in the neighbour- 
hood ; bred a weaver ; had listed ; fought 
through the late war, and was again returned 
to his native water-side and weaving. With 
somewhat of a philosophical eye, he had 
marked the change that war, and the increase 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 61 

of manufactures, had wrought upon his native 
shire ; as the high price of corn, and the large 
bounties offered for recruits, had changed both 
the green mantle of the fields, and the grey 
jackets of its cultivators to red ; and now, 
though the land was again putting on its green, 
and the hynd his grey, it was not with equal 
benefit to both ; the former had lost a quantity 
of its broom and briars, which was " gaining 
a loss," the latter had lost his rude gait and 
rough honesty — a loss ill supplied by the polish 
of a guard room. 

The old veteran they found was quite a 
depot of anecdote, civil and military ; but his 
'prenticeship recollections, as they lay in the 
warmest corner of his heart, and lay to boot, 
upon the sacred land of Burns, had, to our 
pilgrims a very superior interest. His memory 
stretched back into those good trusty old times, 
when borrowings and lendings were unat- 
tended with the formality of bond or obligation ; 
when an 'auld Gudeman' would cry, on a 
pinch, over the burn to his neighbour, for a 



62 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

c claut o' siller,' and on the instant it was heaved 
across, stowed in a stocking foot. A dispute, 
he told them, once arose betwixt two such, as 
to the extent of the sum lent ; the borrower, 
thought he had got fifty guineas, while the 
lender was dead certain it could only be forty, 
because he ' had them lying bye in a bit sixia' 
baggie, that only could tie tightly owre twa 
score.' In strong contrast with this ancient 
honesty, and unlimited trust, he stated that a 
modern drover being met lately, on his way to 
a court of justice, was asked by an acquaint- 
ance, ' whar' he was gaun ?' " I'm on a braw 
errand the day," said he, " I'm gaun to win a 
plea ;" " win a plea !" said the other, " how 
do ye ken that ?" " O, that's easy kent," he 
replied, with a knowing wink; "the case is 
referred to my oath 1" 

It was late ere our pilgrims could persuade 
themselves to part with this amusing old man, 
and, as they intended being "early at the 
gate" next morning, were excused, by particu- 
lar dispensation, from attending upon the 



THE LAND OF BURNS. -63 

"buiks;" so, taking farewell of their hospi- 
table entertainers, and making a few arrange- 
ments for the morrow, they hurried to bed, 
and were all, in a twinkling, as " soun's bats at 
Yule." 

As they had planned — like men in the im- 
portant heat of a mission — our pilgrims took 
Monday at such an extremity, that the villages 
of Newmills and Galston were passed ere the 
smoke was visible from a " lum head," and 
they drove at a fine " han canter" down into 
Kyle Stewart, as the " herd callan" was 
going whistling forth with his charge to those 
deep green pastures, from whence is extracted, 
by the handsomest, of all horned cattle, the Kyle 
cow, that cheese which, under the designation 
©f " Dunlop," has so many lovers in the 
land, We intended spending a few words in 
prose upon it, but the Jingler has anticipated 
us in his 

CROON TO A KYLE COW. 

My bonny brockit leddy, 
I ean see that Kyle has bred ye— 



64 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Wi' your snawy face an' fit~ 
Arf your riggin' like a nit. 
I can guess, even by your fleck, 
Or your genty nose and neck- 
In fact, your very tail 
Declares ye seldom fail 
To sen' hame a reaming bowie, 
Three times a day, my cowie. 

Thy bulk is no uncouth, 
Like the monsters o' the south ; 
Nor hae ye ony trace, 
O' that hairy Hieland race, 
That comes south frae hills an' bogs 
Like droves o' horned dogs- 
No, thou'rt the queen o' brutes— 
That moveth upon cloots. 



I protest there's no a man 
In the borders o' this Ian'-- 
Nor a beast if ye had aff 
The bonny sucking calf— 
That delights so much as I 
In what is ta'en frae kye ; 
For here let it be tauld, 
That be't warm, or be't cauld- 
Be't creamt or be't kirned— 
Be't lappert or be't yearned— 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 65 

Be't sour in crock or pig- 
Or be't crap whey or whig— 
Be it blinkit~be it broke- 
It's aye welcome to Jock. , 

But whan, as fat as grease, 
It comes forth in name o' cheese 
As rich an' yellow's brimstone, 
An' as big's my father's grunstone— 
What e'e is no taen captive? 
What jaw is then inactive ? 
When the gudewife crys "fa' on'/" 
To the wally whangs an' scone. 

When a gude chiel or twa 
Taks a scour o' Usquebah, 
Gif about the hour o' ten 
The browster wife brings ben 
A stow o' cheese, made nice 
Wi' a stouring o' the spice 
Frae the ingle, fat an' fryin', 
An ' on cakes sae crumpy lyin'-- 
Gif the lads be in a plight 
To ken the day frae night- 
Its an unca pleasant sight. 

O ! to see on simmer morn— 
Whan the craik's amang the corn 
An' the gowan's 'mang the grass— 
A sonsy kintra lass 
F 



66 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Rin scuddin' thro' the dew, 
An' cour down aneath her Cow 
Syne in canty sang an' glee 
Stroan the leglan to the e'e— 
Sic a sight has gart me swither 
Atween the tane an' tither— 
That is~her lip sae sweet, 
An' the milk atween her feet. 

Having gained an eminence on the left bank 
of that valley in which the Irvine flows, our 
Pilgrims found spread before them, all within 
eye reach — 

" That place o' Scotland's isle, 

That bears the name o' auld King Coil ;" 

which contains almost the whole earthly ma- 
terials of the " vision". Before them " low, 
in a sandy valley," sate the " Ancient Burgh" 
by the edge of the blue frith, building slowly 
into the quiet air its morning smoke ; a little 
to the left the " hermit Ayr staw thro' his 
woods" beyond which, the woody tract of 
" Bonny Doon" was seen, hemming Brown 
Carrick hill with green ; while here and there 
Castle Steading and Cote glistened amongst 
the trees like ' gowans 'mang the grass.' Sum- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 67 

mer that morn seemed to have done her ut- 
most for the scene, heaven and earth mingled 
beautifully their green and gold, and the 
drowsy breeze loitered on the land, as if afraid 
to disturb their union ; the fields on every hand 
spread forth their blossoms to dry ; the broom 
shook out its gilt tassels, and the gallant 
brier, bridegroom like, mounted its blushing 
cockade. Birds quired it loudly in the brake, 
while their merry leader, the lark, u in pride 
of song," buried himself in the blue of heaven. 
When they came to a halt, by the mere arrest of 
sense and soul, John, who had been in train- 
ing for this fair show, drawing off his bonnet, 
and stretching out his hand towards c Auld 
Canty Kyle,' exclaimed — 

Huzza ! to the land of our minstrel's birth, 

The green fields that wav'd in his eye, 
The echos that rang to his woe, or his mirth, 

And the mountains that bounded his sky. 

It spreads on the sense like a bride's morning dream, 

'Tis the mantle that Coila wore, 
Bedropp'd with the forest, enstriped with the stream, 

And fringed with the fret of the shore. 
F2 



68 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Vet had winter been here with his heaviest sigh, 

Had the sea rolled his heaviest wave, 
And the stem of that flower which now gladdens the eye, 

Stood a monument over its grave j 

It had still been the land of our heart, the sweet spot 

That stands in our fancy the first ; 
And symboled more truly the desolate lot 

Of the ill-fated spirit it nursed. 

Ye sweet birds of summer that sing from the brakes ; 

Ye larks that the blue vaulting skim, 
How the bound of the heart to your melody wakes ; 

'Twas your Sires that gave rapture to him. 

What spirits have warm'd at his melody, oft 

To be quench'd in the chill of the world I 
Or, hoisted a banner of manhood aloft 

That necessity's mandate has furl'd. 

But here let us vow, that whatever may come , 

However our fortunes be starr'd, 
Our precepts shall be, those have hallowed thee, 

Fair Land of the Patriot and Bard ! 

No worldly-wiseman could believe in the 
quantity of spirit that rose from the gig on 
this occasion. The pleasure and delight re- 
ceived from poetry does not always correspond 



THE LAND OF BURNS. by 

with its excellence ; but when the bosom is 
warmed, and the faggots of the feelings, as it 
were, all heaped together, it is a poor piece 
indeed that cannot light the pile. 

In the village of Monkton they halted to 
" corn their naig," at a neat looking inn, em- 
bellished with the effigies of tire gallant 
Black Bull. On summoning the house, a 
bonny Ayrshire lassie appeared, whom they 
discovered to be the landlord's daughter, and 
named Bessy Ballanteen. She was clad in 
the maidenly habit of her country — short gown 
and coat ; which, even elegantly became a tall 
shapely figure ; such as a hot fancy may raise, 
but that seldom appears " in animated dust ;" 
more especially to the ringing of an ale-house 
bell. Her face was a sweet one. And none 
might look upon it — saving, perhaps, a few of 
those natural eunuchs called batchelors — 
without wishing blessings on her " bonny blue 
e'e" and a long summer to the red rose that 
bloomed beneath it. John, who had convinced 
himself that although her eye glistened sweetly 
f3 



70 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

with the soft blue of feeling, it likewise con- 
tained a pretty spark of roguish wit ; began, 
on her re-appearing with a beverage they had 
bespoke, to recommend his long friend to her 
as a suitor, announcing him as one whose 
heart had been hurt with a jilt. She replied, 
with a merry readiness, that tho' she would 
gladly put a sa' to any poor bodie's sair ; yet, 
matters were not come to that pass with her, 
that she needed to take another lassie's leavings. 
Edie was then recommended as a brent new 
body, hale in lith and limb, wi' a heart as 
soun's a bell, saving the crack that she had 
given it. — " But what's wrang wi' yoursel," 
said she, looking arch, " that ye're sae fond to 
hae your frien's fit in a tether, an' your ain 
out — O may be ye're saird and set by ?" He 
was as free to the full as the rest of his friends 
he said, and it was nothing but downright 
modesty that kept him from being the first 
offerer. " Na, na," she replied, " that tale 
'ill no tell -, — for the lad that can offer his lass 
to his frien' may mak a big brag o' his frien'- 
ship, but for Gudesake let him never speak o' 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 71 

his love." " Weel, my bonny Bessy," he re- 
joined, " tho' ye lightly my love, ye'll may be 
tak twa words o' my advice, just as akin' o* 
keepsake ?" " Wi' a' my heart, and be thankfu' 
to the mense, but let it be short, for lang 
councils are like Cameronian sermons, no 
easily minded." " O, as for that," said he, 
" ye may sew't in your sampler. It's a bit o' 
an auld sang, but I hae forgotten the tune — 

Dinna tak a fat man, 

For he's a lazy loon ; 
Dinna tak a lean man, 

For he's soon broken doun ; 
But a gude half an' half man, 

Just neither young nor auld, 
O that's the man to comfort ye, 

An' keep ye frae the cauld. 

An' Bessy," he continued, " be gude to the 
honest woman's son whase blessed bosom ye 
mak your nest in, for gif ye dinna live in har- 
mony, whan under the unslipping bauns o' 
matrimony, it war better for ye that your bridal 
hap war a mortclaith, an' the coverlit o' your 
bed sax fit thick." Mony bra' thanks to ye, 
f4 



72 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Reverend Sir," said the girl, laughing, " I 
didna ken wha I was talkin' wi' — but gif I 
kent whar ye're to preach niest Sunday, I 
wou'd hear ye, though it sou'd cost me aught 
miles tramp an' a bawbee to the broad, espe- 
cially sou'd ye tak for your text, * Be not 
unequally yoked,' ha ! ha !" 

By this time the gig stood at the door. 
" Son of the West," said Edie to John, as 
they stept into it, " the charms ©' that fair 
maid o' Monkton ought to be sung." 



" And they shall be sung," said he in a great 
heat, before I feed, though I should fast 'till 
Friday." Ere they reached Auld Ayr, whom 
ne'er a town surpasses, he redeemed his right 
to breakfast, by producing 

BONNY BESSY BALLANTEEN. 
Air.— " Green grows the Rashes o." 

Gif ye're a lad that langs to see 

The fairest face that e'er was seen, 
Gae down to Kyle-it's worth your while, 

An' gpeer for Bessy Ballanteen. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 73 



Bonny Bessy Ballanteen, 
Bonny Bessy Ballanteen, 
Mony a bonny lass I've seen, 
But nane like Bessy Ballanteen. 

Altho' your lassie hae nae faut, 

Altho' you've sworn her Beauty's Queen, 
I'll wad a plack, ye change your crack, 

Gif ye saw Bessy Ballanteen. 

Bonny Bessy, &c. 

Mony hearts for you 'ill green, 

My bonny Bessy Ballanteen. 

Yet gif ye're tether'd to a stake— 
Gif ye'rc a married man I mean, 

For fear ye'd rue your marriage vow, 
Beware o' Bessy Ballanteen. 

Bonny Bessy, &c. 

Your wedded love's no worth a preen, 

If ye saw Bessy Ballanteen. 

But gif ye're free as man may be, 
A canty Birkie, swank an' clean, 

Gae'try your luck, my hearty buck, 
The prize is Bessy Ballanteen. 



74 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Bonny Bessy Ballanteen, 
Bonny Bessy Ballanteen, 
He is in heaven wha is at e'en 
Wi' bonny Bessy Ballanteen. 

As the " dreary dungeon clock" was chi- 
ming nine, they entered the town of Ayr — and 
dreary, we doubt not, it hath often sounded 
to those poor wretches that have been doomed 
to shiver in its black cellarage ; yet, to our pil- 
grims, it rang like a greeting peal, while the 
measured quantum of its strokes raised up 
pleasant bread and butter scenes — prospects 
that twenty miles riding had sufficiently en- 
deared. It was their hap to light at an ex- 
cellent inn, about half way up the High street, 
kept by Mr. M'Culloch, and they feel it c writ 
down in their duty' to recommend all future 
wanderers in the West to search it out, as 
they would search for happiness, though with 
them it commenced rather equivocally ; for, 
on reaching the breakfast room, John, who 
had caught the bar maid's name in passing the 
kitchen, with the familiar swing of an old ac- 
quaintance, turned upon her with " dear me, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 75 

Peggy, hu's a' wi' ye ? I dare say I hae not 
seen ye this forty year." Peggy, "who was ra- 
ther upon the out-posts of maidenhood, and, 
consequently, not very well pleased with the 
alleged date of their former acquaintance, 
replied tartly, " then gif ye hae nae seen me 
this forty year, ye never saw me." John saw 
he had touched on a sore, so drawing off, and 
directing his jokes to a more invulnerable 
quarter, they soon began bantering as friendly 
as if their acquaintance had really been of the 
supposed standing. 

Having breakfasted, and repaired their tra- 
velling appearance a little, they proceeded to 
muse over the immortal mason work of the 
Burgh, and gaze on the habits of its inhabi- 
tants : — pleasant pastimes both. To those, 
indeed, who have had their spirits deeply re- 
freshed at the pure founts of nature, the 
active, muddy, noise and bustle, of their fel- 
lows, is, for a time, an amusing spectacle; 
and, it is not till we have mingled in the mass, 
and the spirit grown society sick, that we be- 



76 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

gin again to thirst for those renovating springs. 
Ayr, too, is a neat, fair, little town ; not one of 
those thick set podges of man and matter, in 
which one feels buried like a leaf in a forest ; 
but a distinct clump that eye and mind can 
take up at once and inspect without con- 
fusion. 

The first object that interested our pilgrims 
was ' Wallace Tower,' — that smoky old vetran 
who, soldier like, purchased celebrity by 
swearing. — It is certainly a most question- 
able display of the art masonic ; and the 
artist seems, more than once, in its erection, to 
have been in a ' queer swither,' the bottom 
being pure barn work, the middle dove cote, 
and the top steeple, presenting in toto, some- 
what the appearance of a willow grafted on a 
squat thorn. ' The Auld Brig' next stood be- 
fore them, striding sulkily ' above the broo ;' 
frowning so sternly at the gaudy upstart 
below, that the very waters change colour as 
they pass on to their new friend, who enlivens 
them with his white cheek, and throws down 
all his 6 virls and whirligigums' on their 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 77 

breast : then came the " Ratton Key," a 
landing place, a little below the i New Brig,' 
for wherries, skiffs, and fishing boats, and be- 
ing a depository for fish offal, and other orts 
of the town, rats finding there a decent live- 
lihood, and good lodging in the embankment, 
have procreated to a famous extent. 

After circumventing, intersecting, and re- 
intersecting the town — after feasting their eyes 
with the ancient Fort, the " Barns o' Ayr," 
and the house that Wallace was thrown from, 
they finished their town tour by calling upon a 
fair female friend of the Linkers. She had 
assisted largely, in sweetening his childish 
days, on the banks of the Girvan, and, con- 
sequently, with her name, and girlish look, 
many pleasant feelings were associated. Ten 
years, however, had wrought changes upon 
both, and although, when our hearts are al- 
lowed to continue on in their natural growth, 
we still show, at whatever after period, the 
same with enlargements. Yet Fashion, that 
vile Forrester, often prunes, cuts, and twists, 



78 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

our most prominent shoots and grafts new, 
so that although the trunk may be the same, 
the fruit is not. The uninterested pilgrims en- 
joyed this meeting much, and it was even pre- 
tended that a few lines were found in his pos- 
session that evening, to the following effect. 

THE LINKER'S LINES ON MEETING A FAIR 
FRIEND. 

I left ye, Jeanie, blooming fair, 
'Mang the bourocks o' Bargeny, 
I've foun' ye on the banks o' Ayr, 
But sair ye're altered, Jeanie. 

I left ye 'mang the woods sae green, 
In rustic weed befittin'-- 
I've foun' ye buskit like a queen, 
In painted chamers sittin'. 

I left ye like the wanton lamb, 
That plays 'mang Hadyart's heather— 
IVe foun' ye now a sober dame, 
A wife an' eke a mither. 

Ye're fairer, statelier, I can see, 
Ye're wiser, nae doubt, Jeanie, 
But O, I'd rather met wi' thee 
'Mang the green bowers o' Bargeny. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 79 

In consequence of a portion of their poeti- 
cal creed, viz. — that a fragment of rhyme 
found upon the banks of the Ayr or Doon 
was as sacred and valuable to the sons of 
song, as a fragment of sculpture found near 
the Tiber or Nile, is to the connoiseurs in 
stone — for why ? songs prior to the date of 
Burns they esteemed as the fuel or food that 
fed his mighty mind — while posterior produc- 
tions were interesting, as having their spirit 
(if any) infused into them by that immortal 
renovator of Scottish song. 

In pursuance of this belief, forth went our 
wanderers a song hunting. Edie, much un- 
like his prototype, heading the pack, with his 
" pocket book and keelyvine pen" drawn, and 
ready for action. 

In the vennal, or lane, in which the face- 
tious c Souter Jonny' once lived, and * tauld 
his querest stories,' and from whence, the 
world knows, he was only recently removed, 
they found, burrowed in dark huts, an exten- 



80 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

sive warren of old women, who had settled 
down, around the Souter, from mere sympa- 
thy and family feeling. It is, of a truth, into 
lanes, and cotes, and into the centre of rags, 
that the literature and feelings of our fathers 
have been stowed like rubbish, and he who 
would regather them, must bear with the husk, 
to come at the kernel. The following are 
samples of what they picked, from this rich 
nest of the muse of Coila. The first, a mo- 
dern Scotch composition, is supposed by some 
to refer to Burn's unfortunate amour with 
his dear Highland Mary. The second speaks 
pure English, though of Scotch birth and 
parentage, and is merely interesting on ac- 
count of its independence in wooing — one of 
Burn's most prominent characteristics both as a 
lover and a man. The last is evidently the 
mere head and feet of an old ballad — should the 
body be afterwards found, it will be given, 
that a union of members may be effected. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 81 



MARY, A SANG. 

It's dowie in the hint o' hairst 

At the wa'gang o' the swallow, 

When the win's grow cauld, when the burns grow bauld, 

An' the wuds are hingin' yellow ; 

But, O ! its dowier far to see 

The wa'gang o' her the heart gangs wi', 

The deadset o' a shining e'e 

That darkens the weary warl' on thee. 

There was muckle luve atween us twa— 
O! twa could ne'er be fonder ; 
An' the thing on yird was never made 
That could hae gart us sunder. 
But the way o' Heav'n's aboon a' ken— 
An' we maun bear what it likes to sen- 
Its comfort tho' to weary men, 
That the warst o' this warl's waes maun en\ 

There's mony things that come an' gae™ 
Just kent and just forgotten— 
An" the flowers that busk a bonny brae, 
Gin anither year lie rotten. 
But the last look o' that lovely e'e— 
An' the dying grip she gae to me~ 
They're settled like eternity— 
O, Mary ! that I were wi' thee ! 
G 



82 A PILGRIMAGE TO 



SONG. 

Come, my love ! come away 

While the morning is grey, 

Ere the mist up the mountain is borne ; 

While the dew drop lies cold 

On the flower in the fold, 

And yon purple is ripening to morn. 

I will lead thee, my love, 

Where my dreams of above 

On thy bosom I've realized oft ; 

Where the bank, flower, and tree, 

Make it pleasant to be, 

When the breeze o' the dawning is soft. 

But how could I look 

On the dawn-spangled brook 

When under the beam of thy eye ; 

Or how could I lean 

On the flower-chequered green, 

And that heaven, thy bosom, so nigh. 

But if Mary could hark 

To the song of the lark, 

When I tell of my love and my pain, 

By that Heaven made thee fair, 

Tho' this bosom 'twould tear, 

Thou shouldst ne'er list such wooing again. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 83 



WILLY AND HELEN, A BALLAD. 

" Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, 
Unless it be to pain us ; 
Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, 
Whan ye say the sea maun twain us ?" 

Its no because my love is light, 
Nor for your angry deddy ; 
Its a' to buy ye pearlins bright, 
An' to busk ye like a leddy. 

" O, Willy ! I can cairdan' spin, 
Se ne'er can want for cleedin ; 
An' gin I hae my Willy's heart, 
I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'. 

" Will it be time to praise this cheek 
Whan years an' tears has blencht it ; 
Will it be time to talk o' love 
Whancauld an' care has quencht it ?" 

He's laid ae han' about her waist— 
The ither's held to heaven ; 
An' his luik was like the luik o' man 
Wha's heart in twa is riven. 

t t t t t 

g2 



84 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

The auld carle o' Knockdon is dead, 
There's few for him will sorrow— 
For Willy's stappit in his stead 
But an' his comely marrow. 

There's a cozy bield at yon burn fit, 
Wi' a bourtree at the en' o*t~ 
O mony a day may it see yet 
Ere care or canker ken o't. 

The lilly leans out o'er the brae, 
An' the rose leans o'er the lilly— 
An' there the bonny twasome lay- 
Fair Helen an* her Willy. 

As our wanderers had engaged themselves 
to dine in the church yard of Alloway Kirk, 
(the gig having been properly victualled and 
watered for that purpose) they found it expe- 
dient, about three o'clock, to get into the path 
that honest Tam o' Shanter cantered upon, 
that never to be forgotten night, when Ayr- 
shire's infernals had a ball, and the Devil 
turned piper. 

" There are a few lines come to my recol- 
lection," said the Linker, when they cleared 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 85 

the town, " that are said to have been written 
by Burns, on his revisiting the Dloon after he 
had gone to reside at Mossgiel. — " Every 
good article hath its counterfeits," said Edie, 
" and I dare say this is one of them ; but let's 
hear't, Linker, sma' fish are better than nane." 
The Linker complied by repeating 



I hae frien'8 on Irvine side— 

An' my love's in Mauchline town- 
Yet my spirit hath a pride 
In the bonny Banks o' Doon, 

Tho' the wierdless wark o' time 

Has altered a' I see, 
An' the hame that ance was mine 

Is a fremmit house to me, 

Tho' mony a heart lies cauld, 

Wou'd hae warmed to met meiiere- 

Still thy murmuring, sweet Dpon, 
Melts wL* pleasure in mine ear. 

O ! it brings the fields an' flowers, 
Whar my spirits growth began ; 

An' all the joyous hours, 
That built me into man, 
G 3 



86 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

It brings the e'enings mild, 

An' my soul's serenity ; 
Ere my heart's blood started wild 

To the glance o' woman's e'e. 

Thy charms are written down 

On a page that will not blot ; 
O ! I'll mind thee bonny Doon 

Till all but heaven's forgot. 

As the Linker had just completed the last 
line of the above, they hove in sight of the 
snug comfortable white- washed cottage, 
which announces to the reading passenger, 
from a board stuck on the right side of the 
door, that the Poet Burns was born under its 
roof. 

Equipping themselves properly, in their 
Scottish habulziement, they dismounted ; en- 
tering the cottage procession wise. Having 
enquired for the landlord, by the name of 
Miller Goudy, and also the apartment con- 
taining the portrait of the Bard, they were in- 
formed by the Miller's Marrow, a civil decent 
looking woman ; that the Miller was butt the 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 87 

house, in the room, they war wanting, wi' a 
wheen young folk, and that they might just 
stap awa in amang the lave'. 

Striding away, by Mrs. Goudy's direction, 
they entered upon the " spence" where, oppo- 
site to the door, upon an old fashioned chest 
of wainscot drawers, sat an indifferent picture 
of the Poet, executed upon wood. The rest 
of the apartment's furniture consisted of a 
few chairs, two forms and a table ; all in a 
respectable state of cleanliness, and at present, 
almost completely occupied by the foresaid 
' young folk.' 

Miller Goudy — an oldish, liquorish-looking 
little man, evidently deeply embued with that 
valour which makes us " face the devil :" a 
courage, which they understood, he frequently 
enjoyed — at the entrance of our pilgrims, 
made himself conspicuous by saluting them 
with — " Come your wa's, gentlemen, ye'll be 
come, nae doubt, to see the house that Robin 
was born in. Leuk, there he sits in paint 
g4 



&8 A PILGRtMAGE f O 

and timmer, that I hae aften seen sit in flesh 
and blood — But will ye take a side an' taste 
wi' us ? Thir young folk are just gaun out to 
the yard, to hae a bit ploy o' curds and cream. 

The pilgrims having returned the salute, had 
barely seated themselves, and called for 
something to match the Miller's kindness, 
when, as he had prognosticated, the young 
folk retired to the garden ; leaving them in the 
undisturbed possession of the Miller. 

" Ye seem, Miller," said Edie, as soon as 
the coast was cleared, " to ha\e seen that 
great man Robert Burns in your day." " Seen 
him !" replied the Miller, in an elevated tone, 
while helping himself to a glass, " Seen him ! 
Whe, man, I kent him as weell's I do that gill 
stoup, an' that's a wide word. Eh, mony a 
lang winter night I hae seen yankit by wi' his 
glibe gab, whan I made meal, and sell'd drink 
at Doon mills. 

* An' ilka melder wi' the Miller 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller. ; 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 89 

" Man that's me he cracks o' — ken him ! Od, 
that's a speak. — " " Did he mak himseP 
unca canty wi' ye" enquired Edie, curious to 
discover how Burns relished such companions, 
" Whyles, only whyles, I maun say," re- 
turned the Miller cautiously, " just as his 
nain de'el bau'd him. I hae seen him sit 
amang us wi' his head on his han', this gate, 
an' no speak a word for hours, mair than he'd 
been sittin' amang dumb brutes." " So, that 
was strange," said Edie, though he thought 
otherwise. " But what" he continued, anxi- 
ous to know how the boors, among whom he 
was doomed to dwell, accepted him, " What 
did you an' the folks hereabouts think o' him in 
thae days." " Trouth, I thought nae mair o' 
him then, than I do o' you, or ony ither body 
I see and crack wi'," said the penetrating 
Miller. " He had, nae doubt, a pour o' unca 
cliver turns about him when he likit. — But, to 
gie ye a word in your lug — there war' some 
folk here awa, that thought he was na owre 
right in the head." Edie, keeping his temper 
to admiration, that he might not injure his pur- 



90 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

pose, enquired—" When, and where he had seen 
Burns last." " Let me think," returned the old 
drunken multure and knaveship man, "Aye, it 
was just that simmer after he gaed to Dumfries ; 
him and his brither Gilbert war owre seeing 
their auld friens' at Doonside ; 1 drank the 
share o' three gills wi' them that day down at 
the mills. Gilbert, honest man, was unca free 
an' cracky, but Robin, I mine' was in ane o' 
his auld Barleyhoods. I was in han's wi' the 
Laird, at that very time, for a tack o' this 
house. Hech ! little did I jelouse, that day, I 
was to hae sae mony ca'ers on his account. 
But there's nae saying what folk may come to : 
— There's Souter Jonny, the weary body, 
whatna sang was made about him the ither 
day ; an' I'm sure I hae drucken an' spoken 
wi' Robin ten times for his ance." 

The Miller now got quite unmanageable, 
answering Edie's queries with a word or 
two in a sort of parenthetical manner, and driv- 
ing away at his own history and hopes, as 
the main subject. Convinced, therefore, that 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 91 

nothing- more could be made of him at that sit- 
ting Edie and John, his respective querist 
and auditor, were preparing to depart, when 
their attention was demanded to that part 
of the room to which the Linker had re- 
tired almost at entering for the purpose of 
studying, being a sort of draughtsman, the 
Bard's picture, and where he now sat, with 
his eyes shut, and his arms folded across his 
breast : evidently asleep, or in a most pro- 
found state of mental abstraction. 

After they had gazed for some time upon 
the inanimate trunk of the long lad, John 
proposed that means should be instantly resor- 
ted to for his restoration, and drawing forth 
his ram's horn, spoke of effecting it by snuff, — 
so catching most dexterously the exact moment 
when the Linker's lungs were at the extreme 
ebb of respiration, he applied to his nose a 
large quantity of very dry macuba; when sud- 
denly, with the sweep and current, it went 
snoring up like dust in a whirlwind, and al- 
most instantaneously, or in the relationship of 



92 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

the flash of a pistol to its report, the Linker 
awoke with a sneeze that made the ' riggin 
rair\ 

On arriving at his average state of sensi- 
bility, he nevertheless continued to speak to 
his companions like a gifted man, protesting 
he had been in a trance, and seen a vision. No 
sooner therefore, had they got out of the 
drouthy Miller's hands, properly re-seated 
and in motion, than he proceeded to relate :-*> 



THE LINKER'S VISION 

IN BURN'S COTTAGE. 

" After having planted myself comfortably 
before the picture", he began " a swarm of 
sweet and pleasant recollections, came buzzing 
and humming into my mind, from the know- 
ledge of having my seat under the roof where 
our favorite Bard was born, and where his 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 93 

mighty soul first began to burn and boil out 
of its earthly tabernacle. During this while, 
I was gazing upon his dark penetrating eye, 
and broad forehead, which gradually appeared 
to swell from the board, and lowering my eye, 
to mark if the whole man was undergoing a re- 
ciprocal swelling and detachment from the wall ; 
I perceived at the extremity of his broad striped 
vest, a pair of buckskin breeches begin to shoot, 
which, as my eye dropped, appeared to terminate 
in top boots. The Bard thus appearing before 
me in his full market-day dress, seated in rather 
an obscure corner of the room, and evidently 
employed both in musing and remarking. 
Directing my eye to where he was apparently 
looking, I discovered a considerable number 
of males, seated in a straggling manner about 
the fire side and table, drinking beer out of 
quegh caups. — They seemed to have been at- 
tending a country roup of farm stocking, &c, 
and had dropped into the ale-house on their 
way home for a refreshment. 

I now began to scrutinize the company more 



M4 a pilgrimage to 

leisurely, and soon convinced myself that the 
small grey-eyed personage on the right of the 
fire, with the large look of hypocritical rever- 
ence, could be none else than Holy Willy : I 
was the more grounded in this belief when the 
ale-quegh reached him, for hanging his bonnet 
on his knee, he drew his hand slowly over his 
brow and eyes, as if in mental devotion, before 
tasting the liquor : wiping his mouth, repla- 
cing his bonnet, and putting the quegh into 
circulation, he lifted up his countenance, and 
said to a person sitting beside him, " There's 
bra' weather John for the barley seed, thanks 
be to heaven for a' his mercies ; tho' there's 
mony a ane taks a' they get as thanklessly as 
gif the Almighty was bun by missives o' tack, 
to gi'e them seed time an' harvest, whether 
they deserved it or no" ; " Owre true William, 
owre true 1 ', said John with a look of convic- 
tion, " But its nae the least o' our mercies 
that there are yet some strong praps in the 
kintra to haud the Almighty's wrath aff our 
poor sinfu' heads": then lightening his tone a 
little, he asked, " How do ye think the sale 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 95 

gaed the day". "Truly John" said the holy 
man, " I saw nae wanworths gaun either in the 
outsight or insight plenishin', sae I coft nae- 
thing.— Hech" continued he belching ; " I dare- 
say I've eaten owre muckle o' yon fat haggis, 
I'm fonder o' it than its o' me, an' I'll gar the 
bouk o' a black pea o' either sybo or leek, 
thank me for the feck o' twa days". " That, 
proceeds William", replied the aforesaid John, 
squeezing as much scientific skill and impor- 
tance into his face as it would admit of, " from 
the superabundance of the bile, as Buchan 
says, or an impotency in the digestive organs, 
for the discharge of their functions ; but gif ye 
war stappin' into my house the night, I cou'd 
gie ye a pickle pills for a trifle, that wou'd help 
to keep your rift sweet". I was now at no loss 
to know my man, "Jock Hornbook o' the 
Clachan", shone as plainly from his speech, 
as if he had carried his sign-board on his 
breast. 

My attention was now withdrawn from these 
two worthies, by a young man coming round 



96 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

to our bard, who accosted him familiarly by 
the name of Davie Sillers ; while Davie, with 
the same familiarity, enquired " What he was 
doing there, sitting cowring in the neuk like 
a wulcat glowring at a buss fu' o' birds". 

" Indeed Davie", said the bard, " its neither 
because I'm sour or ill set — But there's twa 
three amang ye there, that I like better to 
luck at than speak to, for I'm sometimes pro- 
voked from their balderdash nonsense to say 
things, I should not say, far less they hear. 
But if you'd step roun' an' gie Willy and Tam 
yonner a wink into another room, I'll let ye 
hear a blether I've been stringing up on twa o' 
these weighty personages." Davie Sillers, with 
the springing step of a man, whose heart is in 
his errand, went round to collect the chosen 
few, among whom, I flattered myself I was to 
be included, so was rising hastily up to 
retire to " the feast of reason, and the flow 
of soul", when Jock's confounded applica- 
tion of snuff to my snout blew up the whole 
concern. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 07 

"Sorrow be in't'', said Edie, " snuff was 
never ony girt favorite, or pouch companion 
o' mine, but I'll like it war now than ever, 
when I think, that the best dream that ever the 
Linker dreamed, or is likely to dream, was 
blawn to bits by a snuff o' tobacco ; — O ! wae 
be on't, its makers and takers baith". 

While Edie was delivering with his teeth 
set, this anathema against the staple of Virgi- 
nia, the eastern, or bell gable of " Kirk All- 
oway" burst upon them, and at one glance 
bound up for ever in the manufacturing cells 
of John's mentals, a spirited and excellent 
defence of black rappee ; seeing he was a 
considerable destroyer thereof, and conceiving 
not improperly, that the sweeping clause of 
Edie's edict, rather took him by the nose. — 
He had, however, this consolation, in being 
so stopped, — that he was not the first man that 
the Kirk o' Scotland had silenced. 

In the outset of an excursion, when a scene 
demanding our admiration, lies freshly spread 
ii 



A PILGRIMAGE TO 



before us, we can, at the incomplieated im- 
pulse, give vent readily to the feeling it raises ; 
but when scene upon scene, and pleasure upon 
pleasure, accumulate around us rapidly, the 
mind grows into such a wild and entangled 
thicket of ideas and sensations :— such a pre- 
cious, but, unutterable podge of pleasant 
musings ; that words for a while get worthless, 
until (like agitated particles) the judgment, 
labouring upon the mass, at last settles and 
throws up, the most prominent object to the 
top, for the eye to rest exclusively upon and 
admire. 

Our pilgrims found themselves pretty much 
in this unspeakable mood on reaching " Kirk 
Alloway :"--the very core of their pilgrimage— 
and saw the " far fetch' d" Doon pouring a' 
her floods thro' her bonny banks and braes, 
grandly o'erstrode with that ancient " brig", 
containing the notable and devil defeating 
"key stane" ; while brown Carrick hill, gilt 
and garnished with all its golden broom, and 
purple heath, burst proudly up behind, bound- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 



99 



ing the whole, and running at its full size and 
strength boldly into the frith, as if its further 
extremity had once leaned upon the opposite 
shore ; but, that the stormy and powerful At- 
lantic in thrusting his huge arm, sheer up 
through the dry land, had cut and shore it in 
twain. 

Unyoking their instrument of conveyance 
by the side of a cottage that stands close by 
the bridge, and contains a most kindly and 
complaisant old ditcher and his dame : our 
wayfaring men so far mastered their distracti- 
on, as to recollect their dining engagement in 
the Kirk yard. Loading themselves, therefore, 
with the contents of their portable larder, they 
entered by a stile upon the " dead man's lee", 
and soon settled or hived upon a broad 
" throcht stane", that sat most conveniently 
on the South of the Kirk, pleasantly shaded 
by a young plain tree, now beginning, as 
kindly youth does age, to throw its sheltering 
arms over the reverend pile. 



h2 



100 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

The dinner was devoured almost in silence, 
each pilgrim seeming, from the vacant eye 
they let fall, even upon their food, — to be in- 
wardly engaged in composing something they 
conceived the occasion demanded. 

Their joctelegs being wiped, " faulded", 
and lodged in their pockets, and the fragments 
of the feast gathered up, Edie drew forth and 
planted on the stone, a little brown jar, or, 
' grey beard', filled with the noble spirits of 
the north, and by its side, in excellent harmo- 
ny and keeping, — a small drinking horn. 

"We are now", said Edie, filling the horn 
and casting his mind's eye upon the page he 
had composed ; " seated upon the very " key 
stane," I may say, of that scenery, to which 
the yearning of our hearts has so long and 
steadily pointed — with a clear blue Heaven 
above us — a green smiling earth around us — 
while the glorious summer-day sliding and 
mellowing sweetly into eve, seasons our spi- 
rits into that mild frame of hallowed enjoy- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 101 

ment, that certainly ought to characterise this 
most solemn and singular scene of festivity." 
Then gathering himself more into a speech 
making position, he proceeded. — " Friends of 
the Bard, and beloved brother pilgrims ; it fills 
my heart with joy this day, to think that the 
tide of envy malice and misrepresentation, 
which bore our gallant Bard to the earth ; — 
that buried him, and that, even then in 
coward wickedness boiled and dashed over his 
grave, is now fast ebbing and drying up ; and 
the world now condescends to discover that an 
honest man may rightly serve his God, with- 
out tampering with bigotry, winking at hypo- 
crisy, or damning all parties but his own. 

Another charge, however, has of late years 
been preferred against him, by a tribe of men 
who hate all greatness, unless it be born, and 
deprecate all genius, unless itbe filtered through 
an university ; this charge is no less than the 
cant of independance ! I should have thought 
if there was one trait in his manly character, 
more sufficiently vouched by his conduct than 
h3 



102 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

another, it was the contrary. When the purse 
proud things that surrounded him, I would 
ask, thought proper at a time to lower them to 
his presence ; was it cant that made him meet 
them as equals ; aye, and erect his proud spirit 
amongst them, like a spire amidst village 
cottages ? Was it cant that kept him from dog- 
like fawning, and yelping himself into pension 
or place ? or was it cant that instigated him, 
when necessity chased him into the excise, to lift 
up his voice, ( uncaring consequences' ? Pitiful 
quibblers ! The soul that cannot discern, in aU 
most every effusion of Coila's son, independance 
and manly liberty, shoot up like a grenadier, 
amid the battalion of his other principles, is a 
sorry thing, jaundiced by envy, and battered 
up in pride. 

It is right pleasant though my friends, to 
turn from the growl of bigots, and the puling 
of party, to glance at his achievements, 
amongst the liberal and the good ; what honest 
'mind hath he not enlarged ? what free spirit 
hath he not whet ; and what kind bosom hath 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 103 

he not warmed ? The description of Scott, 
may chariot-like whirl the spirit through battle, 
and through blood ; Byron may make us shud- 
der, and Southey — that poor treasury pur- 
chase — may make us weep ; but, it is the 
Ayrshire ploughman, my boys, that leads us 
to the house of our fathers, the trysting tree, 
and the social board : — It was him my friends, 
that brought us here, and to his immortal 
name we shall dedicate this horn." 

No sooner had Edie ended, and the horn 
gone round in silence, than the Linker — turn- 
ing up his eyes, to obviate all external diver- 
sion — began complimenting the speaker on his 
performance and toast ; " But, Edie," he 
continued, " happy would it have made the 
living contents of this Kirk yard ; aye, and 
thousands out of it, had your toast been a 
health instead of a memory, as well it might 
have been. 

There is an inherent, a native diffidence 
and delicacy always accompanying true ge- 
h 4 



104 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

nius, that, as a cloud keeps it sometimes long- 
out of notice; and, though like the sun in a mis- 
ty morning, it ultimately bursts through all im- 
pedimenjs ; yet, the kind encouraging hand of 
discerning friendship, is an admirable aid 
(like the ushering breeze of the dawn) to help 
the young trembling spirit forth. Such a 
friend and encourager was Gilbert Burns to 
his brother, and, as such, he has certainly 
strong claims upon our sympathy and regard, 
I, therefore, propose this horn to the health 
and increasing prosperity of Gilbert Burns, 
the beloved brother, the first, best, and most 
befitting friend of the Bard." 

This being drank with an amazing enthu- 
siasm, the Linker proceeded with — " Amid 
the mass that people this earth, the majority 
are possessed of such dull and untouchable 
spirits that allow the flesh to fatten under 
any circumstances ; while there are others of 
such a high-toned, and delicate temperament, 
so tremblingly alive to all around them, and 
so peculiarly constituted, that the life-giving 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 105 

heat of their imaginations are for ever grow- 
ing simple griefs into compound miseries, or 
common joys, into rapturous delights : Thus, 
the evil that in the world preponderates, in 
union with " man's inhumanity to man," 
raises in such spirits, a tumult— a turmoil, that 
holds the indignant blood in a perpetual fever, 
and shakes and shatters down a goodly frame 
long ere its day. Such a susceptible soul had 
our lamented Bard,— a soul that under the 
crush and cumber of his circumstances would 
have wasted down half a dozen common trunks 
in the period a dull sober souled mortal would 
have worn one. 

In visiting the birth-place of the most of 
those mighty men who have made the world 
their debtors, we are generally occupied with 
the reflection, that the man, whose " immortal 
essence" either instructed, amused, or enrap- 
tured us, opened his young eye, tottered his 
first step, and lisped his first word amid such 
scenes. But here these are only inconsiderable 
items in the sum of our feelings. Ail around 



106 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

— the mountains, rivers, forests, and floods- 
cry loudly of him, for he spoke of them. 
There lies the living library that stored his 
mind, and the pages from which he faithfully 
copied. His soul gushed forth in the brawl of 
the Bonny Doon ; melted into melody at the 
song of these leafy woods — or mounted into 
Heaven with the wing of the morning lark. — 
Nature, in a word, was his nurse, and while 
she lives, will be his monument. 

To keep my feelings from running over up- 
on the enchanting ground that Edie has tra- 
velled, I shall content myself with a protesta- 
tion — one which I have no hesitation in taking 
jointly without your mandate — That the man 
whose heart is not tuned, and whose soul is not 
touched with the tender and patriotic strains of 
Coila's Bard, can never have the love or friend- 
ship of a pilgrim to the Land of Burns. 

*Awa ye selfish warly race 

Wha think that haven's sense an' grace 

E'en love and friendship sou'd gie place 

To catch the plack, 
I dinna like to see your face 

Nor hear your crack,'" 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 107 

The blast with which they acceded to the 
Linker's protestation being " blawn by" Jin- 
glin Jock, settling his good Scottish counte- 
nance with great dignity upon his broad manly 
shoulders, opened upon his attentive bretheren 
with—" Lads, I hae been i pleased to the nine,* 
no to speak o' edification, wi' the weel wor- 
ded win' ye hae baith let louse on this memo- 
rable an' heart kittlin' occasion. Yet, wi' 
a' manner o' difference, to our majority, acting 
in the contrair--it's finally the award o' my 
judgment, that a Scottish Bard ought to be 
spoken o' by Scotsmen in c plain braid Lal- 
lans.' I, therefore, crave leave to eik, in that 
belief, twa three words as a kin o' codicil to 
your joint testimony. An' truly callans it 
seems to me, a thing weel worth the blawing 
about, that we are a' related in a most endear- 
ing degree, to that sweetest songster in the 
warld, viz .--That we war a' like him, born 
in a Scottish cottage ; and were nursed and 
nurtured also amang Scotlan's mensfu', gash 
an' honest kintra folk. 



108 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

" O, there's nane but the like o' us lads, can 
ken what it is to hae the lumber room, the gir- 
nal I may ca't, o' our bairnly recollections 
ryped and rummaged up, wi' the canty tricks 
o' a ' Halloween,' or the merry glee o' l that 
happy day the year begins'. They carry us 
back ; an' that on the notching shouthers o' 
right humour ; to thae e enviable early days,' 
•when the limbs war green, an' the heart 
was light. 

This advantage, this bit birth-right, I may 
ca't o' ours, lets us deeper into the real saul o' 
Rabbin, than a Southern, or town-born body, 
can ever win, let them sair what 'prenticeship 
they like : and it is my pride, in this birth- 
right, marrowing wi' my birth-place — whilk is 
jimply a mile frae this spot — that gars me sit 
sae lightly, this day, on a head stane, and 
drink wi' my bonnet doffed, — to the memory of 
those Patriots, whether Warrior or Bard, who 
have made the shire of Ayr, the pride and 
glory of Scotland, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 109 

The horn having gone round, John was 
about to re-open upon them, with strong symp- 
toms of much matter, when Edie, who knew 
he was like the widow's Cruse, when his 
breath was set abroach on such a subject, 
reminded him the day ? was couring into the 
West, an' they had a gay bit to gang afore bed 
time. 

" Aweel" said Jock " gif ye canna afford 
me a mouthfu' mair o' prose, to toom my saul 
wi', ye'll surely let me rhyme owre a verse or 
twa, I've cleckt on the auld Kirk ;" taking 
their silence for a warrant, he delivered with 
great emphasis, his — 

ADDRESS TO ALLOWAY KIRK. 

Behold ye wa's o' Allovvay 

This curn o' canty carlies, 
Wha've driven thro ' Cuningham an' Kyle 

In search o' fun an' fairlies. 

It's no cause mony a great divine 
Their holy words here war'd 



110 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

That we respect your stane an* lime y 
An' dinner in your yard. 

But Alloway that night ye war 
Hell's place o' recreation 

Baith heezed an' dignified ye mair 
Than a' your consecration. 

The bit whare fornicators sat 
To bide their pastors bang 

Is now forgotten for the spat 
Whare Nanny lap an' flang. 



The pu'pit whare the gude Mess John 

His wig did weekly wag, 
Is lightlied for the bunker seat, 

Whare Satan blew his bag. 

An' what's the fairley Priests an' fools 

Are geer we've aye a clag o' 
But Coila's son, now in the mools, 

Eternity 'ill brag o\" 

The roar, with which John concluded his 
address, rung from " bank to brae" ; as the 
dinner party in * immeasurable content', strode 
solemnly from the festive stone : passing the 



THE LAND OF BURNS. Hi 

Kirk yard stile however, the hour of evening, 
crying, " quick march", called them into more 
active service ; so, putting forth all their 
knowledge and abilities as ostlers, and, with 
the assistance of the aforesaid kindly cottager, 
they soon got their c brute grippet an' the 
graith on". 

While the yoking operation was going for- 
ward, Edie took occasion to enquire of the old 
ditcher, if he recollected of any timber being 
about the Kirk ; " O ay", said he, " it's no 
sae lang syne that there war a gay twa three, 
o' the auld kipples, an' ither kin' o' louse 
riggin' lying in her guts; an' trouth mony a 
year they lay as unsteered as the throcht stanes : 
but just a' at a brainge, the folk took some 
tirry vie an' awa they gaed like the break o' a 
storm, an' sae clean too, that aught days on 
the back o't ye could jimply gotten as muckle 
timmer in her, as wou'd made a yerkin pin to 
a parrich cog" : I'm vext at that", said Edie, 
" I wou'd liket just as muckle o't as wou'd 
made a keft to a kail gully, or a shank to a 



112 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

punch spoon. — But, am saying man, " conti- 
nued Edie, looking greedily at the East gable 
of the Kirk, " Od I'se gie ye twenty shillings 
for the tongue o' yon auld bell", The honest 
countryman answered smiling, 'that he was 
sorry he durst na' deal wi' him, as he could 
na' think o' selling a thing was na' his own'. 

Having properly returned thanks to the 
cottager for the good wishes and good night 
he c shored' them at parting, our pilgrims cros- 
sing the river, and taking Carrick hill, as ra- 
pidly as their *'gude gaun beast, as e'er in tug 
or tow was traced", was competent, reached 
its summit happily, in time to see the glorious 
manufacturer of day-light, with his broad 
scarlet countenance, sit smilingly down, — as 
honest labour does after a well wrought day, 
upon the rugged pinnacles of Arran. 

Dropping over the South-East shoulder of 
the hill, and " cannily ca'ing" down its breast, 
till they again came in sight of the Doon, 
they at last halted, as the bats and bumclocks 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 113 

were getting rife, at the farm house of B , 

the residence of Mr. O L— , an 

early, much and justly esteemed friend of the 
Lang lad's ; and, though eleven years had 
laboured upon them since they parted— though 
it had stiffened and hardened the round cheek 
of boyhood into man, and, moreover, garnished 
and planted their faces with some hundred 
extra black hairs ; yet the same familiar spi- 
rits still looking through all the alterations, 
deteriorations, or improvements, &c. kept 
them, from having the smallest symptoms of 
" auld frien's wi' new faces," and made 
them meet as lovingly, as if the term of their 
parting had been hours instead of years. 

The whole of the pilgrims soon found them- 
selves much at home with Mr. L ■ . In- 
deed, his was one of those open, pleasant, 
countenances that depone to the gazer from 
every feature, that there is a kindly friendly 
heart within, that joys in the joy of others ; 
containing, likewise, far more accommodation 
for laughing, than crying : not the dry malig- 



114 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

nant grin that laughs at human frailty — nor 
the quiet inward chuckle of self sufficiency, 
but the broad untempered burst that echoes to 
innocent mirth and glee. He was to boot, 
one of those tall, well-built men that delights 
one to see occupied as a tiller of the ground. 
His brawny arm seemed to declare him a true 
master of the soil, and that it could with ease 
oblige the stubborn earth to deliver up her 
stores. He was still without the hallowed 
pales of matrimony, an amiable young wo- 
man, his sister, managed his domestic con- 
cerns. A younger brother was likewise of the 
household ; one, in whom the ornaments of 
education and study were growing strongly up 
amidst the virtues of his elder brother. 

After supper, our travellers, albeit, they 
had been " asteer" some nineteen hours, and 
not idle ones either, in the sun and wind of 
Heaven ; no sooner had their jovial land- 
lord" christened" some Arran water, alias 
Highland whisky " wi' reeking water" then, 
with the unconquerable courage of true 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 115 

valour, they staunchly took their ground before 
it, as determined on its destruction, as if it 
had been the first attack of the day. Each 
toast and joke of the landlord's kindling- and 
' beeting' their mirth ; till, on the out edge of 
reason, the Linker arose, (by the assistance of 
the board) and declared he would not open his 
mouth to another laugh, until his old friend 
should sing them one of his good ancient 
drinking songs. 

Mr. L finding, in despite of joke or 

or jest, that the Linker kept his jaws clenched 
together as if they had been dovetailed, was 
necessiated to give in ; so, after rubbing his 
brow a little, while glancing over the index of 
his collection, he opened into 



LANDLADY COUNT YOUR LAWIN'. 

Here we sit ane an' a' frien's, 
An' here's what keeps us bra' Men's ; 
We'll drink to far awa fricn's ; 
An' fricn's that we hac near. 

h2 



116 A PILGRIMAGE TO 



Then lady count your lawin', 
The cock is near the crawin', 
The day is near the dawin' 
An' bring us ben mair beer. 

There's Jock that came frae Islay 
As dung's a hungered kylie 
Jock swalled like ony bailie 
Whan he took to the beer. 

Then Lady, &c. 

Tam Tamson's raging luckie 
Aft paiked him like a chuckie ; 
Tam cam'd the roarin' buckie, 
Whan he put in his beer. 

Then Lady, &c. 

Drink grees us wi' our callin', 
An' eke a reekie dwallin', 
An' sets the heart a swallin' 
Like barm amang the beer. 

Then Lady, &c. 

Then lads here's to the growth o't, 
An' them, too wha mak south o't, 
An' Lady let's hae routh o't 
As lang as we sit here. 

Then Lady, &c. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 117 

The din of commendation that followed the 
Landlord's song being quelled, he purposed 
to obviate all excuses, &c. that the song 
should flow regularly round the table, com- 
mencing at his right. 

This proposal meeting with no opposition, 
the Jingler, who sat next in succession, hav- 
ing held up the right side of his head to the 
ceiling for a moment, started away into that fine 
old humourous rigmarole chaunt of Ci Hame 
came our gudeman" that all the world has 
heard — or ought to hear, therefore — 

HAME CAME OUR GUDEMAN. 

Hame came our gudeman at e'en 

An' hame came he, 
An' he saw a horse 

Whare nae horse sou'd be. 
How came this horse here, 

An' how came he ? 
How came this horse here, 

Without the leave o' me ? 
A horse quo' she ! 
Aye a horse quo' he. 
Ye auld blin doited carle 



118 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Its blin'er may ye be ? 
Its but a milk cow 

My mither sent to me 
A cow quo* he ! 

Aye a cow quo' she. 
Its far hae I ridden 

An' farer hae I gane ; 
But a saddle on a cow's back 

Saw I ne'er nane. 

Hame came our gudeman at e'en 

An' hame came he, 
An' he saw a pair o' boots 

Whare nae boots sou'd be. 
How came thir boots here, 

An' how may it be ? 
How came thir boots here 

Without the leave o' me ? 
Boots quo' she ! 

Aye boots quo' he. 
Ye auld blin doited carle 

It's blin'er may ye be 
It's but a pair o' water stoups 

My mither sent to me. 
Stoups quo' he ! 

Ayestoups quo' she 
It's far hae I ridden 

An' farer hae I gane 
But siller spurs on water stoups 

Saw I ne'er nane. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 119 

Hame came our gude man at e'en 

An' hame came he, 
An' he saw a big coat 

Whare nae coat sou'd be. 
How came this coat here 

An' how may it be ? 
How came this coat here 

Without the leave o' me ? 
A coat quo' she ! 

Aye a coat quo' he. 
Ye auld blin doited carle 
It's blin'er may ye be ; 
It's but a pair o' blankets 
My mither sentto me. 
Blankets quo' he ! 

Aye blankets quo' she. 
It's far hae I ridden 

An' farer hae I gane 
But buttons upon blankets 
Saw I ne'er nane. 

Hame came our gudeman at e'en 

An' hame came he 
An' he saw a man's wig 

Whare nae wig sou'd be, 
How came this wig here 

An' how may it be ? 
How came a wig here 

Without the leave o' me 



120 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

A wig quo' she 1 

Aye a wig quo he. 
Ye auld blin doited carle 

It's blin'er may ye be 
It's but a clockin' hen 

My mither sent to me. 
A hen quo' he ! 

Aye a hen quo' she. 
It's far hae I ridden 

An' farer hae I gane 
But powder on a clockin' hen 

Saw I ne'er nane. 

Hame came our gudeman at e'en 

An' hame came he 
An* he saw a man 

Whare nae man sou'd be. 
How came this man hear 

An' how came he ? 
How came this man here 

Without the leave o' me 
A man quo' she I 

Aye a man quo' he. 
Ye auld blin' doited carle 

It's blin'er may ye be 
It's but a milk maid 

My mither sent to me. 
A maid quo' he ! 

Aye a maid quo' she 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 121 

It's far hae I ridden 

An' farer hae I gane, 
But a black-bearded milk maid 

Saw I ne'er nane. 

This song put the party into an entire roar. 
In truth, John, had a comical knack of heating 
up with his own, the native humour of this old 
rhyme, to a pitch that none might sit quietly 
before it. £i Come Edie", said he, recovering 
first, " come my gallant ca' the Carles, yoke, 
m y Do y> yoke ; its your turn now to fright the 
rattons." 

Edie, with that alacrity which makes him 
so valuable both to himself and friends, caught 
up that noblest strain of honest independence, 
that ever was worked into words : — " A man's 
a man for a' that." It is a touchstone in- 
deed; — a sort of intellectual crucible, that 
turns out the golden worth of honest indigence, 
from the base dross of worthless nobility. 

During Edie's deliverance, the party seem- 
ed vegitating. A good comfortable laugh has 



122 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

always a tendency to shake one down solidly 
upon their seat ; but, no sooner, from the em- 
phatic sweep of his voice, did their souls 
begin to stir with independence, than each 
backbone was erected like a steeple, and all 
eyes centred in a point, even, as if the air of 
Edie's strain, had turned their noses on him 
like weathercocks. 

It was now the young Lady's turn to " marry 
sound with sense ;" and certainly, the stately, 
and sober frame of mind, c ' a man's a man for 
a' that" had put them into, was much better 
calculated to let them listen to a Lady's song, 
than if she had been doomed to follow Jock's 
merry and side shaking jingle. With a mo- 
desty, excluding all flourish or affectation, 
Miss. L — , sung : — 

ON Wr THE TARTAN. 

Do ye like my lassie 

The hills wild an* free 
Wharc the sang o' the shepherd 

Gars a' ring wi' glee ? 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 



123 



Or the steep rocky glens 

Whar the wild falcon's bide ?-- 
Then on \vi' the tartan 

An' fy let us ride. 

Do ye like the knowes lassie 

Ne'er war in riggs, 
Or the bonny lowne howes 

Whar the sweet robin biggs ? 
Or the sang o' the lintie 

Whan wooing his bride ?-'- 
Then on wi' the tartan 

An' fy let us ride. 

Do ye like the burn lassie 

Loups amang linns ? 
Or the bonny green holms 

Whar it cannily rins ? 
Wi' a canty bit housie 

Sae snug by it's side ?-- 
Then on wi' the tartan 

An'fy let us ride. 



The younger Mr. L 



— , having rather 
more than a suspicion of Edie's predilection 
towards the ancient melody of Scotia, had 
been searching among the old winter night lilts, 
he had heard and recollected, for something, 
i 2 



124 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

with at least the wrinkle of a century upon it. — 
When his call came, he was therefore prepared 
to give them, — 

FAIR JEANNIE'S BOWER. 

Yestreen I tirl'd my love 's window, 
When the moon on hie was hinging ; 

The greenwood heard our parting vow 
When the birds began their singing. 

She took me to the bonny bower, 

Was o' her ain han' twining ; 
The birken buss was owre our head 

An' the saft moss was the lining. 

The howlet had flown to his hole, 

The hare had left the braken, 
When sweet the laverok frae the lift, 

Wi' singing gait me wauken. 

I luckit on her bonny brow, 

And sain'd her wi' my blessing, 
I glowr'd upon her comely mou, 

And wauken'd her wi' kissing. 

9 ! sweet's the diet o' the bee 
That hives amang the heather, 



THE LAND OF BURNS- 125 

But sweeter far that lip's to me 
Than ought that he can gather. 

I gat a vow frae her yestreen, 

I gat it wi' a token, 
Gif ye break it, my bonny Jean, 

This heart wi' it is broken. 



The Linker, (whose musical moment was 
now come) had kept pace with the song, while 
it was " merry and free," both in spirit and in 
noise ; giving', moreover, a large lift to each 
burden or chorus ; but, about the middle of 
the Lady's song, feeling himself begin to 
" droop and drowse," he borrowed, as private- 
ly as possible, the Jingler's box, with the ex- 
ecrated contents of which, he refreshed himself 
wonderfully. The best of remedies, however, 
grow in effective from repetition ; so, towards the 
termination of the foregoing 6 lilt,' — his nose- 
holes being then almost plugged up, and the 
brace pullies of his eyelids getting extremely 
weak and unserviceable, — he, in a fit of nature- 
thwarting determination, clenched his hands ; 
built them upon each other before him on the 
i 3 



J 26 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

table, and planting his chin atop, kept staring, 
with his teeth knit, upon the bowl, as if he had 
been actually holding himself awake by mere 
physical force. John, who had eyed with 
great pleasure, the attempts he made to pro- 
long his diurnal existence, observed, that as 
he had been struggling so manfully to be alive 
when the song reached him, they certainly 
might look for something astonishing, as it 
was frequently remarked of old rogues, that 
they could not die calmly, until their breasts 
were cleaned. — The Linker, whose mouth was 
now made up for the music, replied not ; but, 
drawing himself up to his full length, roared 
out to the following purpose, 

RAB SIMPSON'S RANT. 

Or I'd wag wi' ilka ane's win* 

Or bide me wi' ilka ane's blether, 
I'd rather in faith I war bun 

To gang like a brute in a tether. 
Our Mess John mentains that the mou' 

Was made but for praying an' blessing, 
But auld Watty Reid, when he's fu\ 

Vows his sorts weel wi' drinking an' kissing. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 127 

There's some tak' to courting in wuds, 

An' swear whan the heart tak's a glowin', 
Ther's naething like touzling their duds, 

Wi' the braid o' their back on the gowan. 
For me, lads, I aye like a bield, 

An' a bield whar a wife sells a drappie, 
Wi' ae arm about my lass sweel'd, 

An' the ither ane sweel'd roun' the cappy. 

My auld uncle Rab tho' the sumph, 

He cries down a' kissing an' clappin' 
An' losh how the body 'ill glumph 

If ane sou'd but smell o' a chappin', 
Let him girn himsel' into a gaist 

I min' na his word a pipe-stapple, 
For faith I'm determin'd to taste 

As lang's there's a hole in my thrapplc 



The glass, swilled to the health and song of 
the singer, having exhausted the bowl, the 
landlord proceeded to speak right eloquently, 
concerning its renewal ; however, strange to 
relate, considering how the house was com- 
posed, a large majority was got against it, 
and Edie's motion — which, by the bye, was 
made with one of his eyes fairly buttoned up, 
and the other peeping through -a mere slit. — 
i 1 



128 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

That the meeting resolve itself into resting 
committees, was carried by acclamation ; and 
ten minutes afterwards, completely put in ex- 
ecution. 

So solid and sound was the slumber, in 
which our weary wanderers of the west were 
laid, that all the harbingers and heralds of 
day — 

The crowing cock, the lowing cow, 
The barking dog and grunting sow. 

and every rural sound, that as a larum bell 
tolls up the limbs of labour to their task, 
was crowed, lowed, barked, and grunted 
as vainly to them — even as the chaunting of 
church music is unto a dead horse. 

Yet, sooth, it was not so with their enter- 
tainer. In fact, it seemed as if the Sun and he 
were at strife who should have the first brush 
at the dewy fields, and long ere, " crowdy 
time" he had set the machinery of his farm 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 129 

effectively to work, and made the rest of 
the day his own. 

He found his guests (after he had shook 
them into consciousness) all labouring under 
that severe, though happily not epidemic 
distemper, known by the name of c Barley 
fever.' Their breath came forth like steam ; 
their eyes seemed set in coral ; their mouths 
were dry as snuff-boxes, and their tongues rat- 
tled therein like unto scent beans. Fresh air 
and water were the medicines they craved, and 
their landlord procured them both in delicious 
plenty, at the South-end of his dwelling. 

The station they occupied, (in a seeing 
sense) put them in possession of a noble sweep 

of country. Indeed Mr. L , assured 

them it contained a portion of nine parishes ; 
immediately below, lay the valley that held 
the Doon, at the woody extremity of which, 
the green knolls began to swell, bearing away 
into ruder hillocks, and thence into stout brown 
hills ; beyond which, the blue mountains of 



130 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Galloway bounced up, and, like an azure 
frame, girt in the whole. Amid all this variety 
of optical possession, however, the eyes of our 
pilgrims soon condescended and settled upon— 
as the principal messuage, or manor of the 
heart, that spot 

" Aniang the bonny winding banks 

Where Doon rins wimplin' clear, 
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranki 

An' shook the Carrick spear. '' 

The sun, by this time had outrode about a 
quarter of his round, so the dew being still 
upon the rise, cased the surrounding objects 
in that misty haze, which makes even beauty, 

more beautiful. — Mr. L , gazed and 

talked like an agricultrist. — The Linker, who 
had a trifling turn for drawing, like an artist;— 
while that rousing spirit of the West, Jinglin 
Jock, with the roar of a rhymster, and soul 
of a true Burnonian devotee, cried out, — 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 131 

Behold " auld Coila's plains and fells, 

" Her moors, red-brown, wi' heather bells; 

" Her banks and braes, her dens and dells, 

" Where glorious Wallace, 
" Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

" Frae Southern billies. 

" At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood, 
" But boils up in a spring-tide flood, 
" Aft have our fearless father's strode 

" By Wallace' side, 
" Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

" Or glorious dy'd. 

" O, sweet are Coila's haughs and woods, 
" When lintwhites chaunt amang the buds, 
* An' jinkin hares in amorous whids, 

" Their loves enjoy; 
" While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

" Wi wailfu' cry." 

Notwithstanding this grand and glorious 
shew ; and, moreover, to aid it, a band of 
summer's sweetest musicians, had formed a 
little brake, at the bottom of the garden, into 
a complete orchestre, and were adding music 
to the entertainment : — We, say, notwith- 
standing all this, Edie, continued throughout, 



132 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

quite a musing thing, a perfect monosyllable 
man, and about the middle of John's recita- 
tion he actually slunk away into the house 
6 like a boasted cat frae the cream.' The drag- 
to this mystical removal, proved a most nou- 
rishing morsel for conjecture, — one, conceived 
it might proceed from the state of his stomach ; 
another, that the servant lassie might have a 
hand, or more properly, a face in the affair, 
while the third, spoke of looking into an alma- 
nack, as a sure way of coming at the cause. 
They, however, jointly agreed in this ; that 
from the features, and whole countenance of 
the case, there was, undoubtedly, some most 
confounded ' whap in the rape.' 

Half an hour's patience, brought a solution 
to their riddle; for, as they were marching 
homeward, by the landlord's commandment, 
to inspect the breakfast table; they encountered 
the old puzzling pilgrim upon the threshold, 
sallying out with a letter in his hand, and 
chaunting to the air of Gil Morice : 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 133 

Whar' will I get a bonny boy 

My errand for to rin, 
Will hie him to the next post town 

An' slip this letter in. 

" The fient a fit Belie," said John, " shall 
boy or man either rin on sic an errand, till we 
see what he's running wi\" So saying", he 
pounced upon the epistle, made it his prey, and 
marched with it in triumph to the breakfast 
table; observing (after he had discovered how 
matters stood there) that, as they had the bit 
blink on their han' a'tween the masking an' 
out-pouring, and while the ham was singing 
itsel' savory, they sou'd hear what, an' on 
whom, their billy Edie had been wairing his 
wit. — " As I'm a yerthly creature", he ex- 
claimed, opening the letter, and feigning 
great astonishment, "of a sound and sober 
mind, an' in the full enjoyment of my facul- 
ties, its a lay o' love ! — Take your seats 
frien's,— dight your noses,--spit out and speak 
to the dogs, — for there mauna be a word o' this 
drowned in a hoast, or worried in the growl o' 
a colly : — attention : — 



134 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Dear Ann, upon this hallowed earth, 
That gave the Bard of Coila birth, 

I tak' my pen an' ink, 
A loving line or twa to write, 
An' on this rhyme-inspiring site 
It cannot miss but clink, 
Altho' ye ken I'm little gi'en 

Your praises to rehearse, 
An' tho' I be as seldom seen 

To louse my heart in verse ; 
Yet here lass—it's queer lass— 

A thing ye'd scarce suppose— 
1 tell ye, in fell me, 

I canna mak it prose. 

In wrangling wi' the warl', or when 
I'm getting fun wi' funny men, 

Ye're whyles forgotten a wee ; 
But gie me half a musing hour- 
Then as the bee flies to the flower, 

So hies this heart to thee. 
We a', nae doubt, are fasht wi' flaws 

That shed us frae perfection, 
Tho' some wi' airts, like plaister saws 

Can smuggle their infection. 
Awa' ye, foul fa' ye, 

That wear a painted skin, 
Write chapters, o' raptures, 

When a' is cauld within, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 133 

I winna say, in case I lie, 
That ye're by far the fairest she 
That ere was in creation. 
Nor will I say in virtue either 
That a' that's gane was but a blether 

To thy immaculation. 
But this I'll say, because its true, 

In mind as well as make, 
You've charms, your Edie's heart, my dow, 

To keep as weel as take. 
There's mair ways, and fair ways, 

To tak' an honest heart 
Than winkin's and jingkin's, 

O' beauty spic'd wi' art. 

An' tho' atween us, bonny Ann, 
There's waters, wuds, an' mickle Ian' 

In pasture an' in vittle. 
Tho' day by day Pm doom'd to see 
Fair lassies wi' a pauky e'e 

Wou'd mak your gutcher kittle ; 
Yet there's a bit 'neth this breast bane, 

The dearest portion in't, 
Whare framed in treasured days are gane, 

Thy image lies in print. 
This shiel's me, this steels me, 

'Gainst ony ither flame, 
An' renders a' genders 

To me the vera same. 



130 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

O Anny, lass, what wou'd I gie 
To catch the sparkle o' thy e'e 

Amang thae banks an' braes, 
Whare Coila's Bard wou'd aften rove,. 
Burning wi' poetry an' love, 

Or raving o'er his waes. 
Then, as ye sang his stweetest sang, 

They voice mak's sweeter still, 
I'd lay me on the sward alang, 

An" drink o' joy my fill. 
O ! this lass, war bless lass, 

But now it canna be, 
Adieu, then, be true then, 

To EDIE OCHILTREE. 



Edie's enraptured, together, with Miss 
L 's excellent entertainment, being by- 
patience and perseverance, respectively heard 
and eaten to an end. The precious moments, 
too, that lie (like a honey moon) on the out 
edge of a pleasant repast, (and which, by the 
bye, might, not improperly, be called the honey 
moments of masticating) having been effect- 
ively occupied by the performers, in hatching 
a plan, for the purpose of filling up the peri- 
od, that lay betwixt them and dinner time ; — 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 137 

agreeable to which, they proceeded down the 
before-mentioned slope, to meet the Doon. 

The spot that formed the ground work of 
this meeting ; was a large green holm, beauti- 
fully selvaged on the unwatered side with 
woods. At its lower extremity ; the river 
taking a sudden bend, broadened and deepen- 
ed into a wheel, on the breast of which, a 
salmon cobble, or currach swam, into which, 
they instantly got, and almost as instantly ; 
that tenderest strain of melodious sorrow, c the 
banks and braes o' Bonny Doon," arose from 
the well manned cobble, at a pitch, that un- 
questionably laid the echos of a Scotch mile, 
under contribution ; though, I question if 
their hearers, would have thought they were 
within cry of an opera house. The younger 

Mr. L , whose mind had a classical 

cast, compared them to Venetian gondoliers : 
John, with his turn for the rural, to a nestfu' 
o' whin Unties ; while Edie, hazarded a fear, 
that a grazier would have taken them for a 
cartfu' o' calves. 



138 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

At the termination of this cobble concert, 
their harmonious exertions, the heat of noon, 
and, last and largest, the living embers of yes- 
ternights debauch, fired them with such 'a 
craving for coolness, that unsheathing them- 
selves like 'bedward bairns' they took the 
water like otters ; spluttered about like frogs 
in a well ; then landed, and decked themselves 
again, as chatteringly happy, as a gang of 
geese by a horse pond. 

Refreshed, and much inspirited, (if not 
inspired) by their toss into " the waters under 
the earth ;" they moved lightly up the meadow, 
and by the guidance of their agricultural en- 
tertainer, entered into the aforementioned 
skirting wood ; the trees of which, being tall, 
and thick set, excluded, for the most part, the 
waylaying brier, the incommoding hazel, or 
the stubborn sloe ; though, here and there, 
close by the river edge, the large trees, stood 
back, as in reverence, to allow the rose and 
woodbine to entwine in all their characteristic 
and classical embrasures. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 139 

" First in a wood, and last in a ford," said 
Edie, getting ahead, and making the boughs 
clang behind him. " Thae auld proverbs are 
fine bits of portable philosophy, for helping a 
man cleverly through the world." 

" Selfish though Edie," returned John 
" like the men they make. Indeed I mind an 
auld Scottish Sonnet,-a sort of rhyming bunch 
of proverbs, that, if Burns' ' Advice to a 
young Friend' may be called a mould to make 
men by, with equal equity it may be titled 

A RECIPE FOR MAKING A SCOTSMAN. 

If ye wou'd learn the lair that maks 

A chiel baith fier an' fell, man, 
Give ear unto the redd o* ane 

That's dree'd the jdarg himsel', man. 

Gie gentle words to gentlefolks, 

An' bow aye to your betters ; 
Keep your ajn han' at your ain hank, 

Nor fash wi' fremmit matters. 

In cracking wi' camstairy duels 
Or dealing wi' the drucken, 
k2 



140 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Ne'er cangle at ilk crabbit word, 
Nor straik till ye be strucken. 

At markets, fairs, or ony part 
Whare roun' the yill is han'ing, 

Leuk like the lave but in your heart 
Be ye a bargain planning. 

But never bargain at a word 
For either horse or wife, man ; 

Ye may rue the ane a month or mair, 
An' the ither, a' your life, man. 

Right canny let thy cracks ay be, 
But cannier be thy bode, man ; 

Let caution ay be sib to thee, 
An' reason be thy road, man. 

Sae will ye soon get gear, an' syne 
Ye'll soon get frien's anew, man ; 

For men are like the mice, they rin, 
Ay whare the girnals fu', man. 



As John was ending his rhyming Recipe, 
they came upon the pleasantest spot of wood- 
land they had yet seen. The hawthorn and 
holly clustering together, while, here and 
there, handfuls of sunshine squeezing through 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 141 

the luxuriant foliage, and dancing upon the 
delicate wood flowers, formed a spot, of such 
solitary sweetness, that the school boy had 
instinctively looked about him for the nest of 
the blackbird, or straying lovers, had settled 
upon, as a proper sanctuary for breathing 
tenderest vows in. — A little onward, a well of 
water, slumbering in chrystalj purity, at the 
root of a huge holly, interestingly companion- 
ed with its narrow red line of winding foot- 
path, announced to our pilgrims, the vicinity 
of a cottage, the inhabitant of which, Mr. 

L 9 described, as a most ingenious and 

amusing character : a few^steps brought them 

to its door, and a halloo from Mr. L , 

soon brought its inmate before them. 

He was a middle sized man, with the look 
of one about half way through the world, or 
rather half way through life, as he had no 
marks of the world upon him. His features 
were of a Romish cut,-— high and thin, and 
each point thereof, was tipt with active intel- 
ligence. Not, however, that dry critical kind 
k S 



142 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

of it, before which, one feels the necessity of 
putting a bar and steelyard upon the utter- 
ance, that each word may be weighed in its 
passage ; but, that frank communicative 
knowledge, before which, the thoughts run 
rompishly loose. 

They soon discovered him, to be a most 
zealous and enthusiastic botanist. His gar- 
den, or nursery, seemed cut out of the bowels 
of the wood, like the settlement of an American 
backwoodsman, and his cottage stuck in the 
middle thereof, like a large white gourd or 
pumpkin, swelling among its green leaves. 
Indeed, his premises might, with great pro- 
priety, be called a vegetable hotel ; for, there 
natives of all nations, were seated most bro- 
therly together, drinking of the same dews, 
and dancing to the piping of the same breeze. 

An anecdote they had from this amiable 
planter, is of itself, sufficient to illustrate the 
excellent qualities of his heart. A Brown- 
beech, and one who was a chief among his 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 143 

tribe ; had, at one time thrown his arms so 
wantonly abroad, as to shadow, and injure 
considerably, several others, of a different 
family, that grew within his reach : after deli- 
berating upon the extent of those extending 
injuries, he condemned him to the ax ; saying, 
w why cumbereth thou the ground." Taking up 
his instrument of execution, he went forth to 
finish his award, but when he came to where 
the noble spoiler stood, waving away in all his 
brown majesty ; like Balaam before the en- 
campments of Israel, he had not power withal, 
to lift his hand. Evil reports, however, thick- 
ening against this vegetable invader, he again 
sallied forth, and again returned, as before. 
At last, when further forbearance had stamped 
him, tyrant to the oppressed ; he rushed forth 
at full speed, that his purpose might not cool, — ■ 
shut his eyes, when he drew near, — groped 
his way to the offender's trunk, and ere he 
opened them, gave him a few irreparable 
gashes ; then, slowly, with a sigh to each 
stroke, finished the work of justice. 



k 4 



144 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

They found, however, that this uncommon 
affection for the green tribes of the earth, was 
not incompatible with a disposition obliging 
and free, to such an excess, that to praise a 
plant, was to put it in the praiser's offer, and 
to covet, was most positively to possess : ac- 
cordingly they might have carried off, had 
their stowage and hearts allowed them, loads 
of his fair families. As it was, they accepted, 
with thanks, as a most appropriate present, to 
bear from Doon-side, a young sensitive plant. 

Parting from the Doon-side botanist, and 
his paradisical premises ; the party bent their 
way towards the Steading. A low inward 
grumbling, (which, by the bye, is an excellent 
dinner bell) was their adviser to return, and 
a wise one it was. 

During dinner, or rather at the fag end 
thereof, when Edie's mouth was beginning to 
get again into the service of his mind ; in 

putting questions to Mr. L — , touching 

his personal, or reported knowledge, respect- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 145 

ing the characters in those parts, that Burns 
had dignified or damned ; he elicited the fol- 
lowing anecdote, concerning the merry, mad, 
but immortal Tarn o' Shanter. He, (Thomas) 
was going home, or rather attempting to do 
so, one night, from an alehouse at some dis- 
tance, pretty much in that state, in which he 
faced the devil. On reaching, with exertions, 
that were not paying a cote-house by the way 
side ; he was so o'er-mastered with drink and 
drowsiness, that, stowing himself into the 
garden hedge, as wel) as he could, he soon 
fell fast asleep. The cottager, a douce decent 
christian, coming out in a little, to where the 
famous Thomas lay, for ihe purpose of offering 
up his evening petitions ; had got through his 
wants, together with a few of his wishes, &c. 
when, as he was putting up a word, anent an 
old sick relative, from whose testament he had 
expectations ; took occasion to say, i That as 
he had baith dreed the span an' the inch, and, 
moreover, drunk an' drained the cup to the 
dregs, he might be allowed to depart :' "Never 
in time," cried Tarn, half awakened with the 



146 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

word, depart. u Never wi' a toom caup ; — 
just another stoup Lady, an' then let's ken 
what we're doing." 

On the light wings of ' drink and daffin,' 
'the moments winged their way with pleasure,' 
until our pilgrims found it necessary to resume 
their progress. Every earthly sweet, indeed, 
hath its sour ; the largest and longest things, 
even matrimony, hath an end, and all terres- 
trial rapture, like seeds : — 

" Even, let us keep and hoard them as we will, 
Still shoot out into sorrow." — 

In truth, the most of nature's laws, have 
much of the determined, dogged character of 
the Medes and Persians in them ; no case, 
even, of the most roaring necessity, can stay 
their execution, or, no bribery subvert their 
effect ; and, the only man in the long history 
of the world, who may be said to have got out 
a bill of suspension against their operation ; 
was Joshua, the son of Nun. Seldom indeed, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 147 

does the march of moments, keep exact time 
with our wishes ; — too slow for anticipation, 
and too quick for enjoyment. Sadly, therefore, 
on the present occasion, was their march out 
of step with the feelings of our wanderers, as 
their looks sufficiently witnessed. — Edie, who 
hath one of those squat, firm built faces, that 
will not lengthen, twisted it a little to the one 
side, to give it a melancholy cast ; John, on 
the other hand, whose features are excessively 
portable, and equally qualified for being ga- 
thered up like a purse-mouth, or spread abroad 
like a pillow slip, had his spread to their 
most dismal extent ; while, the Linker, with 
the skin of his cheeks sucked in amongst 
his teeth, and his head drawn down betwixt 
his shoulders, gave his slip of countenance, 
seeing his upper garment was green, the ap- 
pearance of a long rag spread upon a thorn 
bush. — Such were the countenances, through 
which, our pilgrims sighed their farewell, to 

the honest tacksman of B , and the 

other members of his household. 



148 k PILGRIMAGE TO 

Nothing worth a sentence happened, or 
scarcely a sentence fell from our pilgrims, till 
they entered the town of Maybole ; mounted 
in their usual manner, — Edie, occupying the 
right, or whip-hand side of the gig; John, 
the left, with the Long Lad stuck in the mid- 
dle like a wedge, or a telescope betwixt two 
globes. — " ilech," quoth the Jingler, on 
entering the town, with that sort of half sigh, 
that one gives, when looking back upon " days 
are done," "Its mony a lang day since 
last I saw the auld town of Minnybole, (vul- 
garly so called) . — Mark that big stane-bigging 
to the right there, lads : that's the tower, whar' 
the famous, but frail countess o' Cassilles was 
sae lang cavied up in, like a hen that lays awa', 
and thae stane countenances sticking out frae 
the wa' there, like as mony sheeps heads, are 
said to be representatives of her fifteen tink- 
ler paramours." " They're grusome like tykes," 
said Edie, " and unca unseemly looking com- 
rades for a countess." "The Lads" returned 
Jock, " never made ony girt brag o' their 
beauty, as we learn per ballad: — 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 149 

" O we were fifteen weel made men, 
Altho' we were na' bonny." 

But, Edie, ye sou'd ken that wi' some folk, 
gentle as well as semple, quantity, often gangs 
afore quality." — c% I have heard a story told," 
said the Linker, edging his word like his body, 
betwixt the two : — " And I believe it standeth 
on the faith of soothfast witnesses ; — How 
that one of the late earls of Cassilles, got his 
mouth rather unpleasantly shut, with that same 
Johnny Faa. One M'Queer, a fiddler in 
these parts, (a man somewhat cunning in his 
art) had a daughter of such exceeding fairness, 
that she kindled the love of an English lord, 
to that unbearable degree, that he was fain to 
make her his lady. Some time after this, my 
lord and his lady, at a ball, or other musical 
entertainment, chanced to encounter lord Cas- 
silles, at which time and place, the latter was 
so completely outshone by the two former, 
that loosing command of himself, he, in the 
fever-heat of his envious rage, could not help 
whispering to the Englishman, as the musi- 
cians were playing one of the fiddlers old airs ; 



150 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

" M'Queer played that tune well ;" " yes, 
yes," replied the other, with most provoking 
temper, " pretty so, so, but he was most excel- 
lent at the gipsy laddie." 

An angle in the road, a few miles to the 
West of Maybole, laid before our wayfaring 
men, at one sweep, the long deep valley of the 
Girvan ; its tall green hilly barriers gashed 
with glens, and patched with plantations, 
widening at their Western extremity, lets out 
the eye upon a considerable portion of the 
frith of Clyde, in the centre of which rises the 
singular isolated and stupendous craig of 
Ailsa, appearing, from its circular form, the 
bud of a young world, bursting away from the 
teeming sea. 

The eye of the Carrick Carle having dropt 
into the fair and fertile strath of his native 
stream, suddenly picked up a slip of its dear- 
est scenery, flung it into the memory, the me- 
mory to the feelings, the feelings to the heart ; 
while the heart in its wantonness, giving the 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 151 

ribs a rousing thump, made its possessor bolt 
upright, from betwixt his brethren, like a mast. 
Making himself fast to the vehicle with his 
left hand, after the manner of a back stay ; 
his right, like a flag in unsettled winds, 
kept shifting and bobbing about, as he 
apostrophised, and hailed the darling objects 
of his earliest recollection. " Bear with me, 
men and bretheren, bear with me," said he, as 
the others ivere grumbling at the bumps he 
was bestowing upon them, at each rut in the 
road. " John, ye had your daft-day on Irvine 
side ; ye had yours Edie, on the Doon, and I 
maun, hae mine, by Girvan's fairy haunted 
stream. We're a' birds o' ae brood my lads, 
an' every dog maun hae his day. Do ye see 
a steeple yonner, spearing up frae amang the 
massy trees, like the stately lily frae a bed o 1 
thyme ?" " Ay, 1 ' said John, " or rather like the 
heft o' a muck fork, frae a midden-stead. But 
what about steeples, Linker, for trouth, wi' 
you it will be a wonner, gif they're kippled wi' 
the Kirk :" " John," said Edie, interfering, 
" I crave that according to the Linker's last 



152 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

orthodox doctrine, anent daffin," he be allow- 
ed, till we leave this water side, to word or 
work cleanly nonsense, to what length, breadth, 
and depth he likes : — what wast ye war gaun 
to say Mr. Merryman r" " merely a word or 
twa touching the feelings that fill us on glow- 
ring after lang absence, at the spots that hae a' 
had o' the memory's " benmost bore," but 
Jock's vile muck fork, has ted them out o' a' 
gathering. Howsome\er, I daresay, I min' the 
best feck o' a sang, that comes gay near my 
present estate ; sae Edie, gif ye'll quat crack- 
ing your whip sae loud, an' if Jock will gie 
owre the c mucking o' Geordies byre,' I'll try 
an' let ye hear't. — 



At last there streeks my native strath, 
Aneth the redening light ;-- 

O ! mony a bitter day's gane by, 
Sin' last I saw this sight. 

An' mony a time thy stately trees, 
Hae leaf'd in the summer sun 

As often has November's freese 
Loused a' to the Winter wun\— 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 153 

An' mony a gallant family, 

Sin' last my howff was here, 
By fortune's fell, an' fickle blast's 

Been scattered far an' near. 

! whare are a' the bonny bairns 
I left upon the knee ? 

I'll no ken them, now frae the frem, 
Nor yet will they ken me. 

The lassie that I lo'ed first, 

The young thing I lo'ed weel ; 
Was then a fair bud on yon bank, 

An' span at her mither's wheel. 

1 reckon'd thee than, Jessie, my ain, 

Steeve trysted for gude an' a', 
But the grapple o' our green hearts 
The warl likes to scuff awa. 

It's strange what the tear an' wear 

O' time to us baith has done ! 
An' thy name, Jessie, comes to my ear 

Like the south o' a pleasant tune. 

By this time the sun had almost run him- 
self aground. " Day and night," to quote 
from one of Edie's unpublished essays, " like 



154 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

good and evil, hold alternate noons over this 
earth ; and, though on each summer morn, 
the black witch and her brood, (like ignorance 
in the Augustian age) seem buried for ever in 
caves and coal pits ; yet, in process of time, 
she again ventureth forth, peeping first from 
her den with a howlet's eye, to mark if her 
fiery enemy be gone, then, she creepeth into 
the hollows and gleus, anon, she walketh 
more boldly forth to the vallies and plains, 
and at last, like the Goth on the seven hills of 
the world's metropolis, she holds her revels on 
the mountain top." A Scotch day, however, 
under the influence of the dog-star, cannot 
with truth, be said to be much pestered with 
the black witch. Her domain seems then un- 
der the regency of her gentle daughter ; a 
sort of cross-breed betwixt her and Day ; a 
mild kind of mulatto ; a sweet girl of colour, 
that has almost as many lovers as her father. 

" As light" according to Shakespeare, 
" began to thicken ;" or, according to Edie, 
as the witch began to peep from her pit, they 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 155 

drove into the village of Dailly. The Linker 
not willing, at that hour, to make himself 
known to the familiars of his father's house, 
lowered himself down into his former birth, and 
drew his bonnet over his eyes in a way that he 
might spy the natives, without their recognizing 
the spyer. Swarms of children, (an ingredient 
as common and necessary to a village, as bar- 
ley to Scotch broth) were occupying the play- 
ground of the Linker's childhood, as much 
strangers to him as the swarms of midges that 
danced around them. — It was, in all likeli- 
hood, their last game for the night, though 
actively performed as the first. — Merry 
little elves, like a day at the equinox, they 
have no drowsy twilight, but drop at once from 
the meridian of their mirth, often catched by 
sleep, in the very posture of play, with the 
chuckle of their last fun, stiffened upon their 
chubby cheeks. 

About the middle of the village, they ob- 
served a short, stuffy-looking old man, with a 
fishing-rod in his hand, enter a cottage. 
l2 



156 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

" There" said the Linker, " goes as harmless 
a little spirit as ever was closed in clay ; al- 
though many a time Hughie has committed re- 
gicide, if the salmon, according to Smollet, 
be the monarch of the flood. His mode, and 
manner of living, are rank curiosities. Hav- 
ing no property or possession on the earth, 
he makes pretty free with the inhabitants of 
the heavens above, and the waters beneath. 
It's well worth c a pint an' gill' to hear him 
speak o' some o' his fishing days amang the 
mossy lochs that lie, ' behind yon' hill whare 
Stincher flows.' " I was owre at the Loch 
side," I have heard him say " afore ye'd kent 
a whittrit frae a whaup ; there was a fine pirl 
out frae the Wast, wi' a sma' smurr o' rain, 
an', as sure's I'm sayin't, they set up their 
heads like harrow tins louping at the very 
knots o' the line. Od I wapped them out at 
every throw wi' backs like taids, an' wames 
like the yellow goud ; the sma'est o' them a 
span ; an' some o' them like your shakle 
bane ; gif the win had na faun an' the cluds 
rackit, I cou'd hae cram'd a kist wi' them 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 157 

afore dark." At a certain season, he takes a 
voyage to the Craig of Ailsa, bringing home 
a precious load of sea fowls, which, he calls 
" Ailsa cocks, Ketty wakes, petties, and So- 
lon geese ; the most of which, he plucks and 
pickles by as a mart for Winter use. He used 
to make them generally eatable with broth, to 
which he gave most untempered praise as the 
glory of eatables. In this commendation, 
though often pressed thereto, 1 could never 
join ; indeed, Hughies' broth-day, was long 
a fearful day to me ; however, I got my nose, 
at last, to tolerate the mess, but could never 
get my mouth to go the same length. Poor 
old Hughie, God bless ye ! thou'rt a rich 
man, compared with many Lords. Thou 
taught this hand to plot snoods, cast the fisher's 
knot, spin lines, whoop hooks, and busk flies. 
May thy set line ne'er be fanked wi' eels, or 
thy cast line catch on allers ; may the cocks 
and ketties fa' before thy cudgel, aye, and 
may they smell under pickle to thy heart's con- 
tent. — Blest " be thy basket, and thy store, 
kail and potatoes." 
i. 3 



15S A PILGRIMAGE TO 

While the Linker, was thus driving away 
at his village anecdotes; Edie, at his animal, 
and, by the time that day had driven, so com- 
pletely out of Heaven, that the only vestige 
of him visible, was, the dark red heel of his 
Morrocco slipper, flourished above the mull of 
Kintire ; they came before the gates of that 
dwelling, where the Linker, in his assurance, 
and confidence of kindness, had quartered 
them for the night. It was, moreover, the 
identical dwelling, in which he had commen- 
ced his " muling and puking; 1 ' consequently, 
he issued, (under toleration, according to 
paction,) a pretty considerable sum of hailing, 
and apostrophising speech, checked, however, 
about " mid volley," by the appearance, and 
hearty welcome, of the honest house-holder, — 
another born brother of their Doon-side hosts, 
who bachelorised it, after the same fashion, 
with another sister. — And though he might not 
have the picture of friendship, sociality, and 
loving kindness, painted so strongly and broad- 
ly over the vents of the spirit, as had his 
elder brother ; it was not because he had no 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 159 

such lodgers within, that their effigies were 
not set out, as the night and day they spent 
in his neighbourhood fully demonstrated. 

The indoor part of this evening, with our 
merry men, went by without 'sang,' though, 
certainly not without ' clatter.' The Linker, 
had much to ask, touching the births, bridals, 
and burials, that had respectively gladdened, 
maddened, and saddened the parish, since his 
disappearance ; while his entertainers, on the 
other hand, had much to answer, and much 
likewise to enquire. On the whole, this night, 
though less madly merry than the former, had 
more the appearance of a regular rejoicing ; 
seeing, that the question, answer, and narra- 
tive of the former familiars, kept blazing 
away, like right and left firing, while the 
broad lusty jokes of John and Edie, burst in 
at intervals, as great guns, drowning with 
their roar, the small arms, and making the 
roof and rafters quiver with their rebound. 

A little on the 'yaup side o' supper time/ the 

l 4 



160 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Jingler, as was his wont, stole out upon the 
night, to mark how the elements rested, and 
overhaul his feelings for the day. — There is, 
in spite of all that hath been said, and written 
to the contrary, not a few points of resem- 
blance, betwixt the man of imagination, and 
him of trade and traffic. As thus : — The man 
of money, when the day is done, generally 
gathers himself up a space over his books, and 
till, to arrange the sundries, that the doings 
of the day has thrown upon him ; after the 
same fashion, the man of metre, takes to him- 
self, a few moments, at the star lighting 
hour, to arrange the objects and images, his 
mind hath purchased, and glance over the 
ideas and reflections that these have bred : 
the trader posts his transactions into the 
ledger, and stows his treasure into bags ; the 
other, jots his transactions in his scrap book, 
and extends his sweet sensations into song : 
the former, in his visions of the night, circum- 
navigates the globe with a tea ship, or bears 
down the Atlantic in the cradling of a rum 
brig ; — the latter, in the untethered sweep of 



THE LAND Of BURNS. 



161 



his midnight soul, plays with the planets like 
pebbles, girdles the earth with his hand, or 
toasts himself a Welsh rabbit, on the left 
limb of the sun. — There is, however, it must 
be allowed, a trifling disparity in the results ; — 
The day-work and dreams of the one, leading 
to a red nose, round belly, and riches ; the 
other, to books, booksellers, bare bones, and 
a broken heart ; yet, — 

' O' a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 

* Commend me to the Bardie clan ! 

* Except it be some idle plan 

'O' rhyming clink, 
' The divel ha'et, that I sou'd ban, 
* They ever think. 

' Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o> livin, 

* Nae cares to gie us joys or grievin, 

' But just the pouch to put the nieve in 

* And while oughts there ; 

* Then heltie skeltie we gae scrievin 

' An' fash nae mair.' 



While Jock was watching, with heedless 
eye, the outset of the great bear, a bat hap- 



162 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

pened to come betwixt them, the familiar 
flutter of whose wing, driving the dust off 
some of his long laid up feelings, with which, 
its gloaming ranges were associated ; made 
him put forth, with the assistance of three 
pinches of black rappee, the ensuing metrical 
questions, in — 



A BALLAD TO THE BAT. 

Thou queer sort o' bird—or thou beast— 
I'm a brute if I ken whilk's thy tittle.— 

Whare gang ye whan morning comes East ? 
Or how get ye water or vittle ? 

Thou hast lang been a fairley to me 
An' a droll ane as e'er I inspeckit. 

How is nature delivered o' thee ? 

I say thing, art thou kittlit or cleckit ? 

By my banes, it leuks right like a lie, 
For to say, that without e'er a feather j 

A creature soird offer to flee, 

On twa or three inches o' leather ! 

The songster that says thou art sweet, 
Or rooses thy fashion or featness, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 163 

Maun be blin' as the soles o' his feet, 
Or, hae unca queer notions o' neatness. 

Yet, at e'en, whan the flower had its fill 
O* the dew, an' was gathered thegither, 

Lying down on its leaf, saft an' still 
Like a babe on the breast o' its mither ; 

Then, we aft hae forgether'd, I trow, 

When my back 'gainst the birk buss was leaning; 
As my e'e raked the Heavens' deep'ningblue, 

In search o' the sweet star o' e'ening. 

For its glint, tauld my ain kindly Kate, 
That her laddie was down in the planting; 

Sae I lo'ed thee, as ane lo'es the freet 

That proffers the weather they're wanting. 

It's no aye the love warst to bear, 
That sticks in the bosom the strongest; 

It's no aye the gaudiest gear, 
That lies in the memory the longest. 

Even those scenes, that enrapture us much, 

Are still to some former a hint ; 
For, beauty itself cannot touch, 
Unless there be sympathy in't. 



164 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

The constituent members of the pilgrimage, 
being again embodied, having supped, and 
as ' candles burnt to bedward ;' John proceed- 
ed to deliver his ballad. — Now supper, to 
tell the truth of it, is pretty much to the facul- 
ties, what a poultice is to the flesh ; seeing, 
that the latter when applied to a bodily injury, 
never fails, if here be an ounce of humour in 
the animal, to bring it to a suppuration; so the 
former, in a special manner, when largely 
applied, tendeth, if there be any drowsiness 
lurking about the brain, to ripen it to a 
slumber. It ought not, therefore, to be held 
as an astonisher, that Edie, whose limbs were 
sufficientlyjaded, and whose senses were well 
soaked with poppy, should have given a sort 
of chorusing yawn to each stanza, and to the 
last, a deep nose note, by way of finale. 
Natural, nevertheless, as this in Edie could 
be proved to be, it did not exactly, to a deci- 
mal, please the deliverer : Indeed, though 
your metre makers pretend to be large and 
lusty admirers of nature, they have, notwith- 
standing, no admiration for those, who during; 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 165 

the reading or recital of their pieces, show 
any propensity to take their natural rest. He 
received, however, some crumbs i o' comfort' 
from the Carrick carle; — "The ballad," said 
he, " to be sure, is coarse enough, but I like 
whiles to see the ruble work o' the mind, as 
weel's the ashler, — just as it comes to han', 
rough an' roun', tare an' tret ; though it 
maun be allowed, in exoneration o' Edie, that 
this bulk an' block gear, canna but be heavier 
than the weel hammered an' handled ware, 
that's tightly finished :" — Jock, having briefly 
acceded to the above with a grumph, and 
Edie with a groan, evidently raised with much 
exertion, and about half destroyed in the rustle 
of unbuttoning, and clash of raiment upon 
chair or table ; — on the quieting of which, the 
scene shut in, like an Episcopalian congrega- 
tion, with a long and loud voluntary from the 
wind organ. 

Jock and Edie, having rather out-slept the 
fair infancy of the ensuing day, were not a 
little surprised, on awaking, to find they had 



166 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

actually lost a member ; not a corporal mem- 
ber, but a member corporate, — the Lang 
Linker. On making (to their credit, be it 
said) prompt and diligent enquiry, concern- 
ing the long loss they had sustained, the pro- 
duct of their enquiries stood thus : — He had 
been perceived stealing from the chamber, a 
little after the sun left the chambers of the 
East, and that, reckoning from his propensi- 
ties, he was likely to be found wandering by 
the water edge, where he first learnt to swim, 
catch trouts, make seggon boats, bourtree 
guns, and saugh whistles. 

Bearing away by their instructions, the 
couple were just clearing out from the premises, 
when, the pleasant voice of a country girl, 
chaunting an ' auld Scotch sonnet,' completely 
changed Edie's course, and moored him beside 
her for the rest of the morning. 

The Jingler, continuing his course, after 
most diligent search, found our Tall Travel- 
ler pondering, right moodily, within the wall* 






THE LAND OF BURNS. 1©7 

of a deserted cottage. It was the one in 
which his teens had been exhausted, together, 
with those happy and honied days, that even 
as our teens, return not. He was standing, 
when discovered, with his back to the wall of 
a small apartment ; resembling, considerably, 
both in station and look, that domestic piece 
of useful furniture, c an aught day clock ? 
with his large mushroom eye turned up upon 
the nest of a swallow, who, in the corner 
thereof c had purchased a nest.' John broke 
his musing with repeating — 

* * At the silence of morning's contemplative hour, 

I have mused in a sorrowful mood, 
O'er the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower 

Where the home of my forefathers stood' \ 

" Ay man, are ye there !" said the disturbed 
ponderer, " I dare say, Jock, ye can rin a 
fit like a slowhoun'. — But look ye here, this 
is the bit whare lang syne I wont to lie an' 
dream o' a warl that never was, an' think on 
plans that never could be. Is't na a pleasant 
spot ! see what a pretty peep ane has frae the 



168 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

socket o' that window — for the e'e or glass, 
alack, is gane — an' how prettily the sweet 
brier peeps in to see, as it were, its auld 
nurse, for it was me that set it. The swal- 
low, too, bears testimony in favour o' the 
place, for Shakespear says, who knew baith 
man an' beast, — 

' This guest of summer does approve, 

By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath 

Smells wooingly here ;— 

Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed 

The air is delicate.' 

Indeed, with regard to the whole winged 
ones," he continued, " barring always angels 
and insects, — my knowledge not reaching the 
one, or descending to the other, — I'm bound 
to say, that, not only in the beauty of their 
buildings, but in the choice of sites, touching 
neighbourhood, exposure, and general indica- 
tions of healthiness, their wisdom is such, that 
I could poise the taste o' the Robin Redbreast, 
against the great Robert Adam ; the Willie 
Wagtail, against William Stark, and the little, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 169 

but laborious Ketty Wren, against her immor- 
tal brother, Sir Kit. 

"Verily," said John, with a leer that the 
Linker could not at first interpret, " the in- 
stinctive good taste of the fowl, frequently 
makes a fool of reason. Indeed, it is asserted 
by some Eastern travellers, that they have 
birds nests there, composed or catered with 
such exquisite taste, that they are absolutely 
eatable, ha ! ha ! 

Never was the mouth of man more effectu- 
ally shut up with an eatable. — The replying 
look that John had from him, — wavering be- 
twixt smile and frown, — would have made an 
owl laugh. On their way to the Steading 1 , 
although, 

" The lark 

Had drawn his little pipe from out his wing 
And sung away for heaven" 

\ 

And though each bower held a band, and each 
band was making music, so matchless, that 

* M 



170 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

hawks had listened, and even cats purred forth 
praises ; yet, nevertheless, and notwithstanding 
the Linker opened not his mouth. 

They found Edie up to the knuckles amid 
scraps of paper, covered, as he said, with 
excellent old songs ; as 'fidging fain' as an old 
half starved cock would have been in the centre 
of a bushel of barley. 

" Here wi' your lugs my lads," he saluted 
them, — " see what a morning I hae made oH ! — 
What a bunch o' ' wood notes wild !' In fact 
I haefoun' a complete nest." "Do ye hear that 
Linker, he's foun' a nest too," said John slily 
with a wink to his friend — " Let me see — ay — 
Three o' them," resumed Edie, broadening 
himself proudly over his scraps. " Three o* 
them I think, as the disturbers o' ancient dust 
and deeds say, fix with considerable certainty 
their own dates. The first evidently must have 
been composed in the olden time, when the lord, 
the chieftain, and the knight, were the only 
earthly beings, whose loves, hates, battles, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 171 

and mishaps were deemed worthy of song. 
Their vassels, clansmen, or serfs, l ablins 
might I dinna ken' hae names in those days, 
but were never allowed to have any character, 
far less feelings, save as dictated from their lord. 
In fact, they remind one much o 7 a modern 
kennel o' dogs ; either fed for hunting and 
fighting, or kept for show, — propogated like 
the cur without love for convenience, and 
killed as deliberately as black cattle, the one 
for feasting, and the other for fun, as the auld 
sang says — 

A wee ayont the dawing glint, 

Begude the bloody fun ; 
But, mony a clansman lang ere noon, 

Lay gir'ning in the sun' 

But I'm forgetting the sang in han\ Its ca't-— 

SIR ARTHUR AND LADY ANN. 

Sir Arthur's foot is on the sand- 

His boat wears in the wind- 
An' he's turned him to a fair foot page, 

Was standing him behind, 
M 2 



172 



A PILGRIMAGE TO 

" Gae haine, gae hame, my bonny boy 

An' glad your mothers e'e, 
I hae left anew, to weep an' rue ; 

Sue, there's nanemaun weep for thee. 

" An' take this to my fathers ha' 

An' tell him I maun speed ; 
There's fifty men in chace o' me 

An' a price upon my head. 

An' bear this to Dunellie's tower*, 
Whare my love Annie's gane, 

It is a lock o' my brown hair 
Girt wi' the diamond stane." 

" Dunellie, he has daughters five, 

An' some o' them are fair ; 
Sae, how will I ken thy true love 

Amang sae mony there !" 

" Ye '11 ken her by the stately step 

As she gaes up the ha' ; 
Ye'll ken her by the look o' love 

That peers outo'er them a\ 

Ye'll ken her by the braid o' goud 
That spreads o'er her e'e bree ; 

Ye'll ken her by the red, red cheek 
When yc name the name o' me. 



the; land of burns. 173 

T hat cheek sou'd lain on this breast-bane— 

Thy hame sou'd been my ha'.~ 
Our tree is bow'd our flower is dow'd— 

Sir Arthur's an outlaw. 

He sighed, an' turned him right about, 

Whare the sea lay braid an' wide ; 
It's no to see his bonny boat, 

But a watery cheek to hide. 

The page has doff'd his feathered cap, 

But an' his raven hair ; 
An' out there came the yellow locks 

Like swirls o' the gouden wair. 

Syne he's undone his doublet clasp, 

Was o' the grass green hue, 
An' like a lily frae the pod 

A Lady burst in view. 

" Tell out thy errand now, Sir Knight 

Wi' thy love tokens a' ; 
If I e'er rin against my will 

It shall be at a lover's ca\" 

Sir Arthur's turned him round about, 

E'en as the Lady spake, 
An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e, 

An' thrice he stepped back. 



174 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

But ae blink o' her bonny e'e, 

Outspake his Lady Ann ; 
An' he's catch'd her by the waist sae sma' 

Wi' the gripe o' a drowning man. 

" O ! Lady Ann thy bed's been hard, 
When I thought it the down ; 

O '. Lady Ann, thy love's been deep, 
When I thought it was flown. 

" I've met my love in the greenwood- 

My foe on the brown hill- 
But I ne'er met wi' aught before 

I liked sae weel— an' ill. 

"Oil could make a Queen o' thee, 

An' it would be my pride j 
But, Lady Ann, it's no for thee 

To be an outlaw's bride." 

" Hae I left kith an' kin, Sir Knight, 

To turn about an' rue ? 
Hae I shar'd win' an' wet wi' thee, 

That I maun leave thee now ? 

" There's gowd an' siller in this han' 

Will buy us mony a rigg ; 
There's pearlings in this other han' 

A stately tower so bigg. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 175 

" Tho' thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian' 

The warl's braid an' wide.-- 
Make room, make room, my merry men, 

For young sir Arthur's bride !" 

The next is wrought out o' mair hamely 
materials, and evidently lies a lang gate nearer 
our ain day ; when clansmen — throwing by lots 
o' their foolish valour and devotion, and riving 
up the auld deep dauded tether sticks o T 
their allegiance, began to grow into Tacks- 
men, and Lords to dwindle into Lairds. — 
There is, however, I maun say, a smell o' 
the auld Feudal doctrine in't viz : — That 
Gentlemen sou'd hae their will. — 

THE TOD IN THE FAULD. 

Sweet sings the blackbird frae the buss, 

The plover frae the knowes ; 
But ne'er let young thing after dark 

Sing loud, loud, wi' her yowes. 

There was a troop o' merry gentlemen 

A riding the way along, 
An' ane o' them has ridden aside 

An' awa to the bughts he's gone. 



176 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

' O, this is a misty night, fair maid, 

And I hae rode astray, 
Wou'd ye be sae kin' to a merry young man 

As to put him again in his way ?' 

Ye may ride up by yon hill side, 
Your steed's both stout an' strong, 

For out o' the yowe bught I dare na gang, 
For fear that ye do me wrong.' 

He's ta'en her by the waist sae sma', 
Ah* by the grass green sleeve ; 

He's lifted her outowre the bught yett, 
An* ne'er speer'd the lassie's leave. 

* Rise up, rise up,' young man she says, 

Rise up an' get ye gone ; 
Do ye no see your milk white steed 
Eats a 1 the poor man's corn. 

Get up, get up,' young man she says, 

* Get up, for we maun part, 
I've gane hame in weary sickness aft 

But ne'er wi' a heavy heart.' 

' I hae a ring on this finger 

It's a' goud but the stone, 
An' I'll gie it to the poor man 

To let my steed eat on. 



THE LAND OF BUltNS. 177 

1 hae a love within this breast. 

As warm as weel may be; 
An' I'll gie it to my fair may, 

To dry her drapping e'e.' 

It's slowly, slowly, gaed she hame, 

An' dowie was her sang ; 
But a' that e'er her father said 

Was * daughter ye've tarried lang.' 

' O, it's a dark an' misty night, 

Ye may look out an' see, 
The lambs and yowes, they skipt owre the knowe*^ 

An' wou' d na bught in for me. 

There came a tod into the fauld, 

The like ye never saw; 
An' e'er he'd ta'en the lamb he took 
I'd rather he'd ta'en them a'.' 

About three quarters after this, 

As she drove out her father's ky, 
Up came a merry gentleman 

An' he blinked the lassie by. 



* Wha's aught the babe ye're wi' fair may ? B 
The bonny lassie she thought shame.— 

She's turned her red cheek to the gruri*— . 
* I've a young gudemari at name..' 



178 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

* Sae loud's I hear ye lie, fair may, 

Sae loud's I hear ye lie; 
Do ye no mind the misty night, 

Ye were by the bughts wi' me ?' 

He jumped frae his milk white steed 

An' set the fair may on ; 
' Cheer up, cheer up, my own true love 

Ye hae win me wi' mony a moan.' 

He's clad her in the silk sae saft, 

Wi' a pearl aboon her e'e ; 
An' he's made her the Lady o' his Ian'; 

The pride o' the west countrie. 

The last, is one of those pure hymns of 
Scottish love, that our countrymen for a centu- 
ry past have been famous for; — The rough, 
rude, out-burst of a passion, strong as the 
rock, and reckless as the wave. — 



THE GOWAN O' THE WEST 

Gae bring to me a stoup o* wine, 

Gae fill it to the e'e, 
That I may drink a deep deep health 

To her that my heart is wi'. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 

Gae bring to me a wooer youth, 

That I, to ease my woes, 
May brag my gowan o' the west 

Against his southern rose. 

She may be gentle thy heart's love, 

She may be fair an' fine ; 
But, by the heav'n aboon our head, 

She canna be like mine. 

O ! her cheek's like the rosy glow 
That maks the birdies chirl : 

Her e'e is like the light'ning's lowe 
That gars the heartstring's dirl. 

Her lips are like to cherries twin, 
That grow upon ae shank : 

Her breath,— it beats the simmer win' 
In the lowne o' a flow'ry bank. 

Her neck is like the siller stour 
That bowses frae the linn : 

Her breast— O ! it's a lily bower* 
That ane wou'd fain lie in. 

Awa, awa, ye wooer youth, 
Your's may be fair an' fine ; 

But, by the heaven aboon our heads f . 
She carina be like mine, 

n2 



179 



18© A PILGRIMAGE TO 

46 There my boys," cried Edie in triumph, 
** there's a blaw for ye ; a reek I may say o' 
the soul boiled out frae the blood o' some o' 
our gallant forebears. What think ye o' thae 
alms John that I picked this morning" out o' 
" Time's wallet for oblivion ?" 

"Its truly wonnerfu'," replied John, at- 
tempting to look damp, while recollecting 
Edie's base nasal comment on his bat ballad : 
" Its wonnerfu' to see what some men ware 
their wit on. Why Edie, man, I'se wad ye 
a Duddingston dinner, an' that's a sheep head 
and haggis, that, without either muse or inspi- 
ration, — save an' except a bit tasting o' toddy, 
an' half an ounce o' black aff the bean — at ae 
sitting, I'll turn ye aff three sangs, will gar 
yours kyth like e dockens to a tansy.' Excel- 
lent auld sangs ca' ye them ! auld they may be, 
ye may take that wi' ye, but excellent ! O, 
dear — 

Noted men, an' nice men; 

Men o' wit an' wise men ; 
Gree aft in the mite, an' aye in the main, 
But Gouis hae a gab an' a gate o' their ain. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 181 

But what say ye Linker, to Edie's auld heart 
reeks, as he calls them ? Whether, think ye, 
are they kin to thae cluds that fa' in refreshing 
showers, or them that are scuffed by wV the 
win, — mere empty vapours ?" 

As the referee was putting on the guise of a 
sapient oversman; by lodging a few wise 
wrinkles in his front, and rubbing them with 
his hand, as if to feel how they sat ; and, as 
Edie was boring into the silver mine of his not- 
to-be-named's, in search of specie to take on 
John's bet ; breakfast was declared ready, 
from which declaration there instantly sprang 
another ; — a declaration of peace. Indeed 
we would ask, not the man, or rather brute, 
of scientific stomach, whose glory lies in 

" French ragout, 

Or olio that wou'd sta' a sow.--'' 

But the genuine man of unpolluted palate, — if 
anything could have been more in unison with 
his nine o'clock cravings, or better fitted to set 
him at ' peace with all men,' than a snug, neat, 
n3 



182 



A PILGRIMAGE TO 



country parlour, lighted up by the morning 
sun, gushing his rays through a casement, 
woven up with the sweet brier and the rose, 
and flowering the edge of a fair table cloth, 
that held, not only, all the stone ware and 
stores that usually stand, as chartered things, 
within the walls of the tray ; but, surrounded 
with a most extensive suburb ; among which, 
might be numbered, c farles crump wi' butter/ 
and Ayrshire's own legitimate bread, * supple 
scones the wale o' food,' while, at intervals, 
like furnace works, smoked plates of savory 
ham, might have smuggled another blessing 
from the old flesh loving Jacob ; or, laid the 
jaws of the great translantic Ben under water. 
Welcomed to all with a sweet smile ; helped 
to all with a fair hand, and pressed to all with 
a sweet voice ; — O, meat and drink, but it 
was wonderous fine ! 

As our pilgrims rambled by " Girvans fairy 
haunted stream,'* while yet the day stood a 
little to the east of noon, they were, as hereto- 
fore, tempted " beyond the flowery margin of 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 188 

the flood," and one of their lives put in fear- 
ful jeopardy ; but, as the incident is recorded 
in rhyme, it is unnecessary to ' prose it.* 






THE PILGRIMS 

IN THE POOL. 

Ye dwellers upon Girvan side, 

Ye men of Carrick all, 
Give ear unto an accident 

That-almostdid befall. 

It fell upon a Summer day, 
When woods with music rung, 

When every bush laid out its bloom, 
And every dog his tongue. 

So hot it proved, that a pair 

Of youths all in a stew, 
When they came to a mighty pool 

Their garments off they threw* 

And having thrown their garments off, 
They threw their bodies in, 

As recklessly as rogues who think 
That suicide's no sin, 
K 4 



184 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Away they splashed, away they dashed. 
Upon the dark deep wheel j— 

The one, was of a codish make. 
The other, like an eel. 

The one, he lay, or scoured away, 
As nice as heart could wish ; 

And wantoned with the wave, as if 
His sire had been a fish. 

The other, of those waterwights, 
More bones than beef had got ; 

So, unto him 'twas greater pain 
To keep those bones afloat. 

I like not for to see a thing, 
Of bone compounded chief ; 

As little, for to see a soul 
Quite buried up in beef. 

But yet, in river or in sea, 

A creature like a cod, 
Is better off by far than he. 

Made like a fishing rod. 

As they were sporting to and fro!, 
With many a swash and sweep, 

The lean lad took it in his head 
To plumb the gloomy deep, 



THE LAND OF BURNS, 185 

And down he went as plump and sheer 

As poker could have gone j— 
His brother gave a heavy, look, 

And passed a heavy groan. 

" Alack and well-a-day,'' he cried, 

And would have cried much more, 
Had not a head, incontinent, 

Poked up his face before. 

It had the clayish look of one 

Upon the ledge of life ; 
The cheeks were like a table-cloth, 

The nose was like a knife* 

And squattering hard with either hand 

To keep himself afloat ; 
He cried, " O, lend to me your aid, 

Or I must go to pot/' 

Now John, altho' his brow is stern, 

His feelings, are like silk, 
And tho' his beard be black, his heart 
Is like to thicken'd milk. 

So wheeling round his heavy hulk, 

Upon the cry for help j 
He seiz'd his neighbour by the neck, 

As one would seize a whelp. 



186 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

He tow'd him tightly thro' the stream j 

He bore him to the bank, 
And landed him upon the shore, 

As stiff as any plank. 

They rubbed him on the thorax first, 

Then on the abdomen ; 
And wrought on him those diverse works 

Rescuscitators ken. 

It's first he lost a little wind, 

Puffed in a sort of sigh : 
And then, he shook his long left limb, 

And oped his dexter eye. 

And as they rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed, 
He fresh'ned more and more, 

Till he came to the perfect hue, 
That he had been before. 

Now, let this stand a large N. B. 

To you who love the deep, 
To pause a little ere ye plumb, 

And look before ye leap. 

And should ye chance to grow so hot, 
That ye your clothes must doff, 

Ne'er push into a muddy pool 
That ye know nothing of, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 187 

Early in the afternoon, a pretty extensive 
excursion was planned, and after half an hour's 
hot preparation, the pilgrims put forth in a 
fashion, differing considerably from any here- 
tofore described. Edie and John occupied 
the gig; while the Linker, aback of a little 
black pony, as full and round as a woolsack, 
looked like a long pin slightly stuck in a 
cushion. 

Although the cavalcade broke away in the 
most comely order, they had not made much 
ground, when a quick thought seemed all at 
once to touch the rider, and away he pricked 
past the vehicle, quite at a midwife-gallop, 
and in a little, the heave and set of his head, 
above the dipt hedges, was seen far in the 
west, till at last it entirely disappeared, 
amongst the tree-mixed cottages, that com- 
pose the village of old Dailly. — 

The more orderly bretheren, having coun- 
selled their well educated animal into a sober 
sort of discoursing trot, John, as was his 



188 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

wont, began his topographic notices and anec- 
dotes of local superstition, " This umquhile 
clachan, " said he, " (for ye see the kirks 
laid low) o* auld Dailly, is connected wi' an 
awful prophecy, wrung from the divining 
spirit o' that wise man o' the west, Saunders 
Peden. 



" When the aishen trees in the kirk yard kiss, 

Happy are the just, thac that day miss, 

For the French then will come afore its wist ; 

On a morning whan the lan's in mist ; 

An' a boy, that wi* three thumbs, shall be born, 

Will haud, three Kings' steeds, on that awfu' morn. 

An' the burn will rin, sic a fearfu' flood 

That the bridle reins will dreep wi' blood ! 5 ' 



During the last threat of invasion, the 
growing affection of the trees was watched 
with trembling, and the thumbs of all the 
young squallers in the parish carefully counted. 
The laird, however, partly for the love o' 
timmer, and partly to lay the axe to the root o' 
superstition, cut them down. This was reck- 
oned another awful ' kill the cow,' and gave 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 189 

utter displeasure to a small reversion of cove- 
nanters that held field preachings here. The 
stumps, however, in process of time putting 
forth, the saplings came up like green delights 
to their famished bigotry ; for much rather 
would they have seen the burn flooded thumb 
high, as aforesaid, than seen their oracle 
confuted." 

A sharp elbow in the road, a little below the 
umquhile clachan, as the Jingler had it, 
brought the long light horseman again in sight ; 
not bobbing up and down as last seen, but 
squatted beside an old man, nose to nose, in 
the ditch, while the pony standing behind at a 
little distance, gave the group much the look 
of a black pointer setting a brace of grouse. 

" What in the name o' bedlam are ye doing 
there?" cried Edie, as they drove up behind, 
" Has the brute made a gift o' ye to the dyke 
sheugh ? Hae ye broken ony bancs, or lost ony 
skin ? for its nae use to speer after things ye 
cannahurt, — flesh and blood." ." I'm obliged 



£90 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

to ye Edie," replied the Linker, for your con- 
cern, but this is nae doing o' the brutes, but a 
free will offering o' my ain. Johnny lad, " he 
continued pointing to the countenance of his 
ancient comrade, "ken ye the cut o' this?" 
John gazed a remembering moment, then 
started from his birth, crying — "Stiff and 
steady ! and is the breath o' life still current 
in the nostrils o' Saunders Brackenrigg, boat- 
man o' the Binnan 1" as he gave lusty saluta- 
tion to the old and rather singular looking 
man. 

He was not what is called a ' big man/ yet, 
in the stouchy settle of his trunk, there were 
broad marks both of pith and power, though 
now evidently stiffened and lumbered by with 
age. He wore an old light blue, side-tailed 
coat ; the various out breakings of which, 
were battered up with indifferent patches, and 
glittering upon the breast cuffs and tail, with 
buttons might have made pan lids. His vest 
was of old red plush, indeed, so old and bare 
worn, that it was only from little tufts, here 



THE LAND OF BURNS. £$' 

and there, one gathered, that the field had 
once been all under the same crop, winged 
with exceeding long pockets, that curtained 
about one third of his breeches ; which certainly 
with great propriety, deserved the name of small 
clothes, as they barely covered his knee lid 
when standing ; but, when seated, they did 
not even condescend to bend with the limb, 
but held their mouths stubbornly out, like two 
pieces of cannon. His stockings were ribbed, 
and of the same hue with his coat ; — and upon 
his shoes there rode a pair of brass buckles, 
might have made saddle trees to a highland 
man's horse. His habits thus far, were all 
sufficiently inland, but a hat, covered with 
coarse linen, and strongly pitched, seemed to 
point to rougher occupations, ' where the 
stormy winds did blow,' — more especially, 
when taken in fellowship with a set of features 
much weather worn, and some of them evi- 
dently driven from their original position by 
violence. Indeed, his nose — swung to the 
left, like a jib sail in a side wind — declared 
from certain scars, that it owed its present 



192 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

curve to some missile, either ponderous iu it- 
self, or diligently applied. His face, on the 
whole, when inspected for disposition, bespoke 
both good nature, and kindly feelings ; but, 
when searched for character, it presented two 
looks ; — arising from the still quiet habits of a 
country life, attempting to master the rough 
reckless traits of the seaman ; the latter, in- 
deed, seemed pretty wellplaistered up, though, 
like an old wound, it threatened to break out 
from the least tampering or irritation. 

John was largely delighted with meeting 
the old boatman, though he declared he had 
as soon expected to see Ailsa craig whummel'd 
up like a salmon cobble, as the roving boatman 
o' the Binnan tenting a cow on the gate to Gir- 
van. " How" said he " might this hae come 

about, Saunders, without a miracle ?" 

" Why I hae na turned the chow in my cheek" 
answered Saunders "sin' I gied your frien' here 
a rough guess o't ; but, ye'se get it a' owre 
again, truly, gif ye hae time to hear't whare 
ane may speak wi' a wat mouth. Need I tell 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 19$ 

a lad come to your time o' life, what a dry craig, 
an' a lang crack craves ?" " So, so, Saunders 
1 returned John " I can see that tho' ye've laid 
by your bluejacket and harn calshes, ye hae 
na laid by your drowth." " We canna work 
wonners," said the old man lightly ; " The 
pock maun aye saur o' the saut. And I hae 
e'en heard it said o' some o' your saunts, that 
they found it easier to lay down their life than 
their ill leets ; sae what can ye expect frae me, 
wha I may say, lifted my mouth frae my mi- 
ther's breast to the brandy cag ; — me, that 
rocked and rowed the best feck o' forty years, 
wi' an anker for my bed, an' a cag for my 
cod ; — me, that has seen swashes o't, could a 
soumed ye a' like midges in a midden dub. — 
I say, what can ye expect o' me man, an' 
reckon on things possible ?" 

The pilgrims having acknowledged that his 
drought was quite natural, requested him, if he 
could, to conduct them where it might be 
quenched. This was glorious service for the 
old smuggler : without uttering a word, he 
o 



194 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

tied his charge to a thorn, and easing his hat 
a little off his brow ; with an eye beaming 
pleasure, and a cheek ripe with joy, he strode 
away before, bidding them follow. The Lin- 
ker, however, being still intent on prosecu- 
ting his journey, started in a contrary direction, 
being pretty well aware where he would find 
them again, and in a twinkling, man and horse 
were buried up in a cloud of their own up- 
kicking. 

After half a mile's trotting (for the smug- 
gler walked not as his face had been church- 
ward) he halted at a break in the hedge row ; 
beyond which, a few yards, (as the sign-board 
declared) stood a house of entertainment. It 
was a snug sheltered cottage, thatched, and 
almost entirely grown verdant with moss, save 
where a pigeon had scratched a sunny seat, or 
an impudent sparrow burrowed to breed. The 
walls were low and ill built, but white as Irish 
lime could make them ; and the window stones 
touched up with a little yellow ochre, gave to 
the exterior, that clean comfortable look, that 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 195 

a Scotsman fitly expresses by the word cozzy ; 
while the white sand that peeped beyond the 
threshold, and a few yards swept around the 
door, seemed to speak of cleanliness within. 

While the pilgrims, after having disposed 
of their gig, tarried a little without, inspecting, 
with curious eye, the snug little baiting house, 
that really seemed pitched as a bait by the 
way-side, to catch thristy sinners; the old man 
had entered, and was heard pretty loud and 
rather lovingly engaged with the hostess. 
There seemed, indeed, to be a good deal both 
of familiarity and affection in existence betwixt 
the two ; and, it no doubt had its root, in a 
kind of reciprocity, somewhat resembling that 
of the Moor, and the fair maid of Venice. — - 

He loved her for the liquor that she sold ; 
And she loved him, because that he loved it. 

By the time they entered, she had got a 

little, round, one legged, and three footed 

table, made firm in the middle of the room, 

and was, with the tail of her apron, pretending 

o2 



196 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

to beat away the dust, — a common browster- 
wife pretext, for remaining until they take an 
order. She received them with a neat custom- 
er-taking smile, played off from an old, but 
fresh face, deeply enclosed, all around, with 
a stiff parapet of French lawn, coped with a 
light railing of narrow lace. Her gown and 
peticoat were composed of that stuff, called 
lintsy woolsy, which, our foremothers, when 
young, wont to caird and spin, and when old, 
to test upon, as pieces, almost of imperishable 
property. On the whole, the hostess and her 
habitation, harmonized to a fraction, — clean, 
comfortable, and enticing ; and both, more- 
over, seemed to have seen, not a little of the 
last century. 

Having seated themselves before a mutchkin 
stoup of the best in the house, a quegh cap " o' 
reaming swats," and a considerable breadth 
of oat cake ; they proceeded to request old 
Saunders, the last of the smugglers (after 
wetting his whistle) to narrate that part of his 



THE LAND OF BURN*. 197 

history, which drove him from his former, to 
his present employment. 

He began, after gathering himself compactly 
together, — pinching a few extra wrinkles into 
the nook of his eye and scratching the edge of 
his white whisker, with — " Really lads, that's 
a time I never talk o' without hot blood an* a 
sair heart, — when I think on the dogs that did 
it to me, an' the rare souls that suffered wi' me, 
Ye'll min' I daresay, neighbour, afore ye gaed 
East, that we foreign traders wha wont to clear 
out without making custom house entries, war 
sair keepit down an' cow'd wi' the cutters, 
an' that it was only in the dead howe o' winter, 
that we could rin owre a bit boatfu' o' Irish 
saut r" John acknowledged he knew as much. 
" Weel, sirs, we gart oursel's trew, that at 
thiswark, a' the cutters in the kingdom, or a' 
the gaugers or tide waiters, that ever saul'd 
their days ease, an' nights rest, to distress 
their neighbour, could na touch us. But the 
pig gangs lang to the well yet comes hame 
broken at last, sae it fared wi' us. We had 
o 3 



198 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

rigged an' reekit out a prime swanking wherry ; 
she was o 1 the right Gourock bigg, — syde in 
the rib, an' strait in the beam — could hae run 
\vi' the win', an' took the sea like a hollan' 
hawk ; an' the lads that wrought her (though 
I'm ane of them that says't) their betters ne- 
ver floated atween the Cumbrays an Carrick. 
I thought wi' mysel' at the wa-gang, an' some 
o' us e'en said as muckle, that the night was 
rather short— an' there was a bit heel o'an auld 
moon in the lift ; howsomever, I daresay, we 
war mair behauden to some ill e'e an' fause 
heart, than either short night or moon light. 
But to mak a lang tale short, we had run owre 
wie a fine tiffle o' win' frae the west, an' as the 
sun took the sea, an' the win' gaed wi' him, 
we lay babbin in the mouth o' the loch, as 
deep's a wrack-duck. But, as the tide was 
in our tail, an' ony waffo' win that was lay 
the same airt, we streekit a' our claith — laid 
our best strength oil the lang oars, an' slade 
awa up by the Ian', meaning to mak the Cur- 
rerie port about the latest. We had raiket, 
afore gloam, wi' a' gude glass, the Carrick 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 199 

coast, an' the best feck o' the firth, but could 
spy naither timmer nor tackle, sae we bore awa 
up for the port as bauldly, as gif our burden 
had been spring cod or Girvan coals. Just as 
we entered the jaws o' the port, an' war easing 
awa' the sail yearns, a lang boat wi' a full 
crew o' the devils' dogs, cam scouting out 
frae the rive in the crab-craigs, an' hailed us 
to ly too ; an' ere wi' gat time to throw the 
wherry in the win', they had their grapples in 
our gunnels. I need na tell ye, that they did 
na board us wi' baith ease an' honour : — We 
faught them for the feck o' ten minutes wi' 
broken oars, iron crows, an' bail hefts, an' 
had anither boat no come up we wou'd hae 
set them back wi' little spulzie, but their ain 
blood. In the hettest o' the bruistle I was 
somehow dung overboard ; an' whan I saw it 
was a' owre wi' the wherry, I soum'd to a 
black rock, an threw a tangle owre my head, 
keeping my body unner water, — sae they 
searcht for me in vain. But, O, man, whan 
they sailed by me at last, wi' the brave bread- 
winner o' mony an honest woman, — the deddy 
o 4 



200 



A PILGRIMAGE TO 



o' niony a bonny bairn, — the comrades o' my 
youth, an' the best blood in Carrick, tyed up 
in their ain boat like brutes ; I thought my 
very breast wou'd hae bursted ; — I reft at the 
rock I hang be, an wou'd hae geen a warl' to 
been able to lift it, an smash't it in amang 
them. O! rough be their hinner en', an' saut 
be their last beddin ! — confound and sink — but 
its nae use now. Gie's a mouthfu' o' that yill 
neighbour." 

Quenching his wrath with a deep pull at the 
quech, and a few heavy lungful's of air, he 
resumed his narrative with greater temperance. 
" The rest o' the tale," said he, " needs nae 
muckle telling. For twa three days after, I 
gaed paunering about the san's like a body 
gaun to mak awa wi' himsel'. But the news 
o' our awfu' antercast, wi' an account o' my 
dementit state hav'in' gaen the length o' my 
daughter Tibby, — wha ye 1 !! maybe min', mar- 
ried a ploughman up in the Colmonel han', 
an 1 angert me sae, that I wou'd naither speak 
wi' the tane, nor grec wi' the tither ; — weeL 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 201 

poor thing, in the teeth o' a' my unkin'ness, 
her, an' her gudeuian, came owre an' gat me 
wiled awa back wi' them, to whar they now 
live, — about twa gun shot frae this. He has a 
bit grun' that keeps a horse beast, whilk he 
works, an' I tent the cow, as ye ken. As her 
pasture lie's feckly by the way side, I'm aften 
fa'ing in wi' an auld frien', that likes* a crack 
an' a chappin' ; sae my auld banes are gaun 
rattling down the brae, mair merrily than I 
cou'd hae expeckit." 

When he had made an end of speaking, 
the pilgrims, expressed much pleasure at hear- 
ing that he had got his roving, salt water pro- 
pensities, so thoroughly bleached out, and, 
likewise, that his old crazed hull, had, by the 
cables of filial affection, been towed into such 
a comfortable dry dock. " And when," said 
the Jingler, referring to his last declaration, 
" did ye see ony body frae the Ian' o' your daft 
clays, Saunders?" 

•"ilt was about the first o' the herring time, 



202 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

I think, that there was ane here that ye should 
ken, — auld Rab Forgie, the honest aleseller o' 
the Binnan." 

"Aye, Saunders, I did ken that ancient 
prince o' publicans. He never thought ale 
ony stouter o 1 a gauged s stick, or brandy ony 
better o* a permit. He was, over and above 
nae sma frien' to free traders, Saunders." 

"That I ken, as did mony mae in my line 
o' merchandise ; for whan ony o' us war out, 
gif the water gleds war on the watch, he aye 
hoisted a blanket on his yard hedge, gif it was 
day, and at night, he set a lunt to a whin 1 
cow. A bit waff winlestrae thing o* a gauger, 
I min, ance challenged him, when a gin sloop 
was in the affing, for hoisting his blanket, and 
bleezing his whun. But Rab — wha had a 
breast like a boat bow, an' a arm like a port 
stoup, — tauld him that thae things war his ain, 
an' he wou'd do wi' them as he wulled. 6 An 
quo he e gif ye daur to touch my blanket, or 
offer but to spit in my lowe, by a' that's gude, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 203 

I'll heeze ye in the tane, till ye're saft, an' 
singe ye in the tither till ye're sair.' Aye, Rab 
was the lad for thae Lan'-loupers, an' mony 
a funny sang he had on them." 



Edie, whose spirit had fallen into a dull, 
lounging state, during the fag end of the old 
seaman's story, sprung stiffly up, at the word 
" sang." " Do ye mind ony o' them Saun- 
ders ?" said he. 



Saunders, owned that he had been crooning 
one of them that very morning to his young 
oe's. And suddenly, with a voice hollow and 
hoarse, as the enraged element of his youth, 
he gave them — 

THE GAUGER. 
Tune — " Nancy Dawson" 

The Gauger he's gane owre the hill, 
Wi' his horn an' his quill ; 
Will ye wad wi' me a gill, 

Tbe ganger he'll come back man ? 



204 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

He's houkit thraives o' Irish bags- 
He's herrit coves o' brandy cags— 
There's hunners 'twixt the Loch an' Largs 
Cou'd see him on a rack man. 

He cost M'Queen a browst o' yill ?— 
He brake Pate Simsons whisky still ; - 
It's awfu' an' unkent the ill, 

This warlo'kin has wrought man. 
He gars M'Master keep outowre, 
He's billy keep a seventy four^— 
He's coft his killing ten times owre ? 

He'll get what he has coft man ! 

Nae stream canbrouk a constant spate— 
The dourest things maun hae a date— 
An' dogs wha hae a kintra's hate, 

Sou'd redd weel wha they bark at. 
Pate Simson he's begun to bann, 
An' Partrick has a lang Queen Ann— 
Now Lord hae mercy on the man 

That Partrick takes his mark at. J 



During the singing of the above, the for- 
mer character of the old rough, reckless, 
boatman of the Bin nan, came stronger and 
stronger upon him at each succeeding verse, 
and he ended with lils hand doubled, his brow 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 205 

down, and his teeth set — indeed the last verse 
was literally squeezed out betwixt than. When 
he had laid the boiling- of his blood, with 
an application to the ' cap and stoup,' 
John, brought to his recollection, another, 
touching the same line of business, which 
he sung with the same spirit, but with more 
moderation. 

THE LADS O' LENDALFIT. 

" The boat rides south o* Ailsa craig 

In the doupin' o' the light ; 
There's thretty men at Lendalfit 

To make her burden light. 

" There's thretty naigs in Hazel-holm 

Wi' the halter on their head, 
Will cadg'd this night, ayont yon hight, 

If wind an ' water speed. 

' ' Fy reek ye out the pat an' spit, 

For the roast, but an' the boil, 
For, wave-worn wight, it is nae meet, 

Spare feeding an' sair toil." 

" O, Mungo, ye've a cozzy bield 
Wi' a butt ay an' a ben, 



206 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Can ye no live a lawfu' life, 
An' ligg wi' lawfu"' men ?" 

" Gae blaw your win aneth your pat, 

It's blawn awa on me, 
For, bag and bark, shall be my wark, 

Until the day I die. 

" Maun I haud by our hameart good* 

An' foreign gear sae fine ? 
Maun 1 drink at the water wan 

An' France sae rife o' wine ? 

" I wou'dna wrang an honest man 
The worth o' a siller crown ; 

I cou'dna hurt a yearthly thing, 
Except a gauger loun. 

" I'll underlye a' rightfu' law 
That pairs wi' heav'ns decree. 

But acts an' deeds o' wicked men 
Shall ne'er get grace from me. 

" O weel I like to see thee, Kate, 
Wi' the bairnie on thy knee ; 

But my heart is now, wi' yon gallant crew, 
That push through the angry sea. 

" The jauping weet, the stented sheet, 
The South-west stiffest gowl- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 207 

On a moonless night, if the timmer's tight, 
Are the joys o' a smuggler's soul." 

The spirit that gleamed through the old 
man, now was truly astonishing ; it seemed al- 
most to surprise himself. — " There's nae ken- 
ning," said he, " what corn an' cord can do for 
an' auld beast, or caup an' stoup for an auld 
heart. Come I'll gi'e ye anither ane and syne, 
as Rab Forgie wou'd say, we'll drink ' mair 
the morn,' an' skail. 

THE ROVER O' LOCHRYAN. 

The Rover o' Lochryan he's gane, 

WT his merry men sae brave ; 
Their hearts are o' the steel, an* a better keel, 

Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave. 

It's no when the Loch, lies dead in its trough ; 

When naething disturbs it ava ; 
But the rack an' the ride, o' the restless tide, 

Or the splash o' the grey sea maw. 

It's no when the yawl, an' the light skiffs crawl, 

Owre the breast o' the siller sea ; 
That I look to the West, for the bark I lo'e best 

An' the Rover that's dear to me. 



208 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

But when that the clud, lays its cheeks to the flud. 
An' the sea lays its shouther to the shore, 

When the win' sings high, an' the sea whaups cry. 
As they rise frae the whitening roar. 

It's then that I look, thro' the thickening rook, 

An' watch by the midnight tide ; 
I ken the wind brings my rover hame, 

An' the sea that he glories to ride. 

O merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew, 

Wi' the helm-heft in his hand, 
An' he sings aloud to his boys in blue, 

As his e'es' upon Galloway's land. 

" Unstent an' slack, each reef and tack, 
Gie her sail, boys, while it may sit.— 

She has roar'd thro' a heavier sea afore, 
An' she'll roar thro a heavier yet." 

" When landsmen sleep, or wake an' creep, 

In the tempest's angry moan, 
We dash thro' the drift, an' sing to the lift 

O' the wave that heaves us on. 

" It's brave, boys, to see the morn's blyth e'e, 
" When the night's been dark an' drear ; 

But it's better far to lie, an' our storm locks dry, 
In the bosom o* her that is dear. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 209 

" Gie her sail, gie her sail, till she huries her wale, 
Gie her sail, hoys, while it may sit, 

She has roar'd thro' a heavier sea afore, 
An' she'll roar thro' a heavier yet! 

As the old salt water spirit finished his " Ro- 
ver," the red sun, as about to turn in beyond 
the western wave, took his eye. He started 
hastily at the sight ; saying-, that the hour was 
come, when his daughter would be looking for 
him and hawky, and as he was a sort o' toofa' 
upon their kindness, it fell his part to keep 
their kinches. — Proffering many braw thanks, 
for what he had gotten, and many braw days 
to the givers, he rocked off, at a round sea- 
faring step. 

His companions, having satisfied their hos- 
tess, soon followed him. They had not been 
long out, when their ears were filled with the 
brattle of a horse, at his best pace, and on 
looking round, they discovered the long pil- 
grim and the pony, bearing up at a great rate, 
accompanied, like an old Greek God, with a 
big cloud, and swinging to and fro in the front 



210 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

thereof, like unto a supple willow, whose root- 
ing enjoys the juices of a moss. At first, they 
almost went into tremblings, when they saw 
him swing so loosely on the top of the animal ; 
but, on narrower inspection, they found that 
his extensive limbs secured him quite like 
roots, and that, as in the case of the plant, 
his waving was all from the spring of the 
trunk upwards. He was in a rich musical 
mood, and to their enquiries, he sung — 

THE AULD FRIARS AN' THE NEW. 

Was the come o' will gifts o' the heart, 
E'er reckon'd wi' gear that is sauld ? 

Can new fangled frien'ship impart, 
The pleasures that spring frae the auld ? 

New frien's may hae uncas to tell, 

An' fairleys to gar the lugs ring ? 
But the voice o' a canty auld frien', 

O' it fingers a pleasanter string. 

It brings back the joys that are gane, 
Gars the sweets o' the memory start ; 

It blaws aff thae cares gar us grane, 
An' rubs up the roots o' the heart. 






THE LAND OF BURNS. 211 

The warl grows in bunches, we see, 
Like flower knots that cluster the swaird ; 

Then keep by the bundle, my boys, 

'Mang whom your young spirit was rear'd. 

Awa vrV variety's praise ; 

Gie me the frien' steady an' true ;-- 
I'd rather drink swats wi' the auld, 

Than wallow in wine wi' the new. 

The road, by which they returned, led theni 
past the shattered remains of an ancient castle, 
that popular belief, had tenanted with a sin- 
gular sort of spectre. The castle, it would 
seem, from the same authority, was built by 
Julius Caesar, and the ghost, with great pro- 
priety, was a Roman soldier, girt in steel, — 
mounted with brass, and spoke Latin, like a 
professor of humanity. He exhibited, like- 
wise, not a little of the stout stateliness of his 
nation, and, unlike the bulk of his shadowy 
tribe, he could not be said to walk the earth. 
It was generally on nights when the elements 
were much out of sorts, and the wind came 
lustily from the west, that he made his appear- 
ance on the out edge of a turret, where a crow 



•212 



A TILGR1MAGE TO 



might barely sit, — tall, stiff, and erect, as a 
bit of the building ; except his right hand and 
sword, with which, he cut and swashed away 
at the wind, after a strange old fashioned sort 
of exercise. When he had drilled himself 
thus, for a considerable space, between the 
hours of twelve and two, A. M. he always 
finished with letting, what is called a star 
sticker, bolt upright into the air, when slowly, 
his arm seemed to run up after the thrust, un- 
til the whole trunk spun itself out into a long 
thin thread, and then, in the shape of a grey 
cloud, floated away into the east. 

We have often been astonished, (and the 
above ghostly anecdote enlarges it) that, among 
that learned backward body of men, that fol- 
low the " Antiquarian trade," ghosts and 
goblins of all degrees, should have been either 
entirely disregarded or overlooked, in the way 
of proving facts, or settling of dates ; seeing, 
few will dispute, that the testimony of a spec- 
tre, is worth a score of conjectures, and the 
countenance of a ghost, much preferable to a 



THE LAND OF BURNS 213 

guess. It must, however, be allowed, that 
even those shadowy things, are liable to 
change, and ghosts, like their constituents, 
often give up the ghost. The majority, too, 
of those night walkers, being of the feminine 
gender, they are like the rest of their sex, apt 
to be influenced by fashion, and it is nothing- 
new to see, or rather hear, of an old ghostess, 
who wont to stalk it in the costume of the good 
Queen Bess, — her hair in a coif, — ear-rings, 
like onions, — beads, like a string of crow 
eggs, — a ruffle, like a turkey's tail, — a waist, 
including both breast and belly, and a petticoat, 
like a wine pipe, — tripping it now in a robe of 
book muslin, her head in satin, and her feet in 
coloured kid ; then, instead of the long two 
handed sword, might be mistaken for a boat 
oar, stuck through her from side to side, show- 
ing, like an extra pair of arms ; — a gentle 
little poniard glitters in the top of her ribs, 
about the size of a decent stocking needle. 
Truly, it is most lamentable, to think, that this 
fashionable mania should not only injure the cre- 
dit of the living, but, even extend to that of the 
p3 



214 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

dead ! — To the honour of male spectres, how- 
ever, it must be allowed, that they stick more 
staunchly to their ancient outward ; and Ayr- 
shire, we are proud to say, can still reckon 
a few, who turn out to < the glimpses of the 
moon,' in brass caps, steel vests, and iron 
small clothes. 

But, to return from shadows to substances. 
Our wanderers in the west, had reached their 
destination without accident, and had wiled 
away, with their excellent entertainer, and his 
amiable sister, the merry hours up to the deep- 
est soundings of midnight ; when, as they 
were about to withdraw to bed, " one sugges- 
tion rose," from the Jingler, viz. — That, as he 
had addressed his Bonny Jean from Irvine 
side, and, as Edie had done as much to his fair 
Ann from Doou side. The Linker, in justice, 
ought to do as much to his ' Jo Janet' from 
Girvan side. This suggestion, met with the 
approbation of all, but the personage it at- 
tached ; who, declared that his judgment was 
jumbled, and that he was not worth either as 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 215 

much rhyme or reason as the task demanded. 
These objections, however, were soon over-ru- 
led ; as they hinted, that a trifling shake in 
the judgment, was a thing could not surprise ; 
that if he could not rhyme it, he could prose 
it ; and, as to reason, — it was the only thing 
that could spoil such epistles. 

That the blaze of his heart might not be 
blown out, or injured, by the wind of common 
table talk, he retired to an apartment by him- 
self; while the rest, re-settling themselves 
over a fresh jug, determined to wait his return. 

They had sat, with decent patience, one 
half hour ; with tolerable patience, a second, 
and, were even pretty deep in a third, when, 
their patience giving way, Edie was des- 
patched to investigate and report, touching 
the delay. He was not long in returning, 
with a strange looking sheet of Bath post in 
his hand ; which, when laughing allowed him, 
he said, was found lying below the head of his 
exhausted friend ; and, as he seemed to have 
p 4 



216 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

dropt upon it, before it had time to dry, there 
was almost a complete duplicate of it upon his 
left cheek ; so, that if his love was not graven 
in his heart, it was printed on his face. He 
then read, or pretended to read, the follow- 
ing' podge : — 

Dearly beloved cousin Jen, 
I splice my fingers wi' my pen, 
On purpose for to let ye ken, 

Yestreen about the hour o' ten o'Clock, A. M. 
we came to a pause upon Girvan side, with 
members and mentals, (to slump the thing) in 
an uncommon state of health and happiness. 
Individually speaking, — cannot recollect of 
feeling so unearthly on any spot, at any for- 
mer period. 

We have been roving boys, take my word. — 
No creatures in a crib, — no horses in hap 
shackles ; — 

My saul's nae marrow to that man, 
Wha stints him to a humdrum plan ; 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 217 

An' keeps, like a dull, driven hack. 
His tae eternal in a track. 
Gie me the man, that on occasion 
Can tak an affsett o' digression; 

If it were for nae mair, than to let us ken, he's 
a reasonable creature, and no completely under 
the operation o' instinct. 

Sair am I langing to see ye, Jenny, and thae 
sweet wee buds o' the next generation, my se- 
cond cousins. — Bonny dears ! how I like to set 
my teeth, and haud their saft milky cheeks to 
to mine, and fin' the waff o' their sweet 
breath, as, if their tongues war moss roses, 
an' their lips a pair o' pinks. It's weel for 
them, lovely lambs! that they're sae heart- 
taking, else, wha wou'd think o' bringing up 
a thing, that aften puts us out our house, an' 
dings us aff the earth ? An' it's weel for their 
mothers, Jenny, that they hae sae mony wi- 
lings and smilings, an' man-melting tricks 
wi' them, or, guide us! whare wou'd be the 
next generation, Jenny ? — I tak it, the sum' 
pox was a prime thing for keeping down popu- 



218 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

lation, not only, by the quantity it took awa\ 
but by the ugliness it left. But, ye hae nane 
o' thae ugly cheek pits, Jenny, that drown 
beauty, an' scaur love ; no, thy cheek is 
smooth as a summer lake, thy nose, as a fair 
rock, towereth therein, and, thy mouth, is a 
sweet honey well, at the bottom thereof. — O I 
Jenny, Jenny, for a refreshment thereat ; 
farewell, my spring* o' life, my aqua vitas, — ■ 
It's all over with the 

LINKER. 

The dawn had scantily broke, when Edie 
and John were up, and had raised, or, more 
properly speaking, had lifted their drowsy 
brother, who had, as is often done, in the pro- 
digal expenditure of one day's spirits, consi- 
derably mortgaged the next. He was even 
found unable to participate in their landlord's 
hearty-bonnaillie, his utmost effort, being to 
let out his eye for a few seconds, to look a 
heavy farewell, to the place of his birth, and 
the playmates of his youth, as with a chirp, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 219 

and a crack of his whip, Edie urged his ani- 
mal into the track that doubled up the pil- 
grimage. 

The morning, was far from being an exhi- 
larating one. The broad breast of the Atlan - 
tic, had, over night, breathed out from the 
jaws of the Frith, a heavy thick mist, — the 
earth was soaked ;• — the gentle spray, hung 
lank with the dreeping load, and the wild brier 
continued to hold its rosy hands firm clenched, 
against the unwholesome steam, that smo- 
thered up the land. The birds sat moping on 
their roosting sprays, blowing out at intervals, 
a few loose notes, apparently, more by the way 
of keeping their throats in tune, than on ac- 
count of any present demand. The Linker, 
coiling himself up in his cloak, was soon shook 
into a drowse ; and to say truth, even the 
most lively of them, began to feel the influ- 
ence of the fog. Indeed, " Heaven hath — 

" - --No sweeter gift, 

" Than a pure soul ; so fully weather tuned, 
*' Can frown in fogs, look gloomy in the rain ; 



220 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

" But then, a sunny hour can make all well, 

" Freshening the sluggish pulse. O, 'tis for such, 

" That fields have flowers, and birds have morning songs." 

As the day rose, however, and the dawn 
breeze fell, the strength of the sun began to 
master the mist. First, it rose slow and sul- 
lenly out of the hollows, and hanging a while, 
at a considerable height, roofed curiously in, 
the whole valley. Then, it tripped more lightly 
up the mountain side, as if resigned, and de- 
termined to anticipate its fate, and, at last, to 
the delight of all beholders, it melted ghost- 
like into air. As the mist rose, so rose the 
song of morning, and the spirits of our wa- 
king pilgrims, mounted up with both. Indeed, 
evils that do not go a deadly length, are 
always valuable, in the way of contrast, and, 
as the earth had got a ducking, that took the 
sun a good half-day's work to dry, the green 
thing looked the fresher for it, and the living 
thing delighted in that look. 

John, who like < bauld Lapraik, the king 
o' hearts ;' — 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 221 

" At either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes, an' sangs he'd made himsel', 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

Had but few matches." 

Kept prosing or rhyming to each known spot, 
like a showman, as the lifting of the misty 
curtain disclosed it. — " That deep gash, in 
yonder hill," said he, "is called Linugiston 
Glen ; a place, notorious for nuts, foxes, and 
fairies. It is, moreover, notable in song, — 
listen :— 

FAIR MARION O' K1LKERRAN. 

The bird in Linngiston's deep Glen, 

His hindmost sang has twittered ; 
An' gloaming owre the western wave, 

Its latest glow has glittered. 

The elder stars are in a lowe, 

An' fast the younger follow ; 
The breeze is creeping owre the knowe 

To sleep within the hollow. 

It's sweet, to scent the win' at e'en' 
Whar the wild flower makes it baumy ; 

It's blythe, to hear the blackbird sing 
A balu to the lammv. 



222 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

But it's aheartfu' o' delight, 

To met wi' thee my Marion, 
When the white moon ranges braid an' bright 

Owre the dark woods o* Kilkerran. 

Some flit their love for kith an' kin ; 

There's mae that flit for tocher ; 
But the gear cou'd lift my love frae thee ; 

This warl has nae to offer. 

I hae a house an' a kail yard, 

In the howe ayont Knockgerran ;-- 
O a' my wish is to be spar'd 

To see't the hame o' Marion. 

After the same fashion, when riding up the 
broomy side of Carrick hill, he introduced the 

DOGS O' DRUMACHREEN. 

Yestreen I gi'ed my duds a dight, 

An' razor rade my chin ; 
An' taking aff my craig death, 

I turned it outside in. 
Syne canty in the dowe 

O' a bonny July e'en, 
I gaed dannering down the howe 

That leads to Drumachreen. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 223 

The last time I was owre, 

I had angert sair my dow ; 
By fa'ing soma' asleep wi' her, 

When in the barley mow. 
But, I thought she'd ha'e forgotten,— 

Or else she'd ha'e fcrgi'en.-- 
But, the di'el tak my dear, 

An' the dogs o' Drumachreen. 

I blinkit by the ha' door, 

An' whistled 'neth the yard ; 
But she never leeted after me 

Mair than I had been a caird. 
I airted roun' the peat stack, 

An 1 thought to meet the quean ;-- 
But the niest sight I saw 

Was the dogs o' Drumachreen. 

O first they reft my wilycoat, 

An' then they reft my breek ; 
An' syne they bate me on a bit-- 

'Bout whilk' I daurna speak ; 
'Bout whilk I daurna speak, 

Tho' it waters baith my e'en.— 
O ! the di'el tak my dear, 

An' the dogs o' Drumachreen. 

It being yet early day, when they again 
reached " the cauld clay biggin', erected by 



224 A TILGRTMAGE TO 

the father, and immortalized by the son ; they 
hoped to find the miller in a more discoursable 
state, than at their last visit. They were dis- 
appointed. He had newly crept out of his bed 
as they entered ; but, though he was as sober 
as he could be, he was not a jot the more sen- 
sible. All seemed off the hinge with him ; the 
barley bloom upon his nose looked sickly, and 
his pitiful rags of anecdote, were rendered 
even more ragged, by the incessant chatter of 
his teeth. 

As this day, was devoted by our pilgrims, 
to the inspection, of what might be termed the 
head quarters of the pilgrimage, — the town of 
Mauchlane ; they merely spent so much of it 
in " Auld Ayr," as allowed them to breakfast, 
and purchase water of Ayr hones. A conside- 
rable manufactory, of which, is carried on a 
little above the town, and tons annually expor- 
ted to all quarters of the globe ; so, that the 
emigrant, from " Cauld Caledonia," in the 
gloomy woods of the St. John, or the Ohio, 
often hath both his heart, and labour lightened, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 225 

by strains and stones, from the banks of the 
" hermit Ayr." 

The highway to Mauchline, winds al] the 
way up by the side of the river ; but, being 
closely walled up with woods, and as you 
advance, getting deeper into the earth, it was 
seldom seen, though frequently heard gur- 
gling, as it " kissed its pebbled banks." A 
little beyond mid-day, they gained, after fry- 
ing some nine miles in the sun, a most delici- 
ous furlong, or two, of highway, cut through 
a wood, and overhung from either side with 
tall, heavy, and broad silver, or lady firs. 
The road was wide, as all tree- edged roads 
should be, and, as the horse-track only occu- 
pied about the half of it, the remainder, was 
under the pasturage of cottagers' cows, 
which kept it smooth as a lawn, while a red 
line of footpath, winding up the middle, com- 
pleted its accommodation. — Foxgloves leaned 
from the hoary hedge ; the burdock grappled 
with the brier, and the dark violet sparkled in 
the ditch, by the side of his gay sweetheart, 
the go wan. 



220 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

The pilgrims, having dismounted, to enjoy 
the cool shadow of those lady giants, were 
met by an old woman, walking with a steady 
step, and seeming ease, with a burden on her 
back, and a basket full of delft ware upon her 
arm. She was recognized by John, when at 
a little distance, as a personage, well, and 
long known in these parts, by the name of Pig 
Tibby. She was a middle sized pleasant- 
featured body, and, from the appearance of 
Time's tear, and wear, upon them, one would 
hardly have supposed her above forty ; though, 
they discovered afterwards, that she was very 
considerably outgone the half century. Grief 
and discontent, are better wrinkle makers 
than Time ; and one is apt, sometimes, to lay 
the doings of the former, to the account of the 
latter ; so, as the old fellow had got no assis- 
tance from either, his works, upon Tibby, 
were not in a state of forwardness at all cor- 
responding to the period of his exertions. 
Good humour seemed quite domesticated with 
her, and contentment, no casual lodger. Her 
burden lay on her like a piece of dress, and 



THE LAND OF BURNS. '2*27 

her basket, from long jolting and squeezing, 
had wrought itself a pretty comfortable seat 
upon her right haunch. 

They found no difficulty in driving her into 
conversation ; in the course of which, John, 
artfully brought himself to her recollection. — 
" Dear bless us " cried Miss Isobel M'Mais- 
ter, alias Pig Tibby, when she recollected 
him; "an are ye really the man, that when 
a bonny wee curly headed callan, I wont to 
see running like a whitterit, about your mi- 
ther's han% decent woman ! when she wou'd 
be pricing a plate or a porringer ? Weel, this 
is my dream read. I thought yestreen, that 
I saw three yellow yoldrin's chittering on the 
tap o* a fa' dyke, and I never dream o' yites, 
but I meet auld Men's. But, as the say is, 
whare hae ye been, an' whare mean ye to be?" 

" These are bigspeerings," said John, "for 
a gate-side greeting ; but, as we are thinking 
about making it dinner time, if ye could airt 
us to a quiet canny bit, ye shall see how we 

q2 



228 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

live, aye, an' what's better, taste what we 
live on." 

Tibby, after holding counsel with herself 
for a little, said, " as their time was like to be 
raair precious than hers, she would gae back 
wi' them a bittock, to whare a slap in the 
hedge wou'd let them and their whisk into the 
wood." The opening was at no great dis- 
tance; so, entering, and following, by her 
guidance, a winding wood path, till they came 
within the murmur of the Ayr ; they singled 
out a sweet sequestered spot ; and, in a little, 
commenced their pleasant toils of the teeth. 
As this dining scene, however, took quite a 
dramatic cast, in has been thought proper to 
give it as such. 









THE LAND OF BURNS. 229 

AND THE PILGRIMS; 

A PASTORAL. 



A cozzy corner in a wud ; 

The simmer lift without a clud ; 

On ae han', saughs knee deep in rashes, 

Wi' earses flower'd outowre the splashes. 

The ither buskit up wi' aller, 

An' birk, whase shade is sweet, an' caller. 

The brute beside them cows the carpet ; 

While Edie's gotten his whittle sharpit. 

The Linker gies his lips a smack : 

An' Jock an' Tibby's unca pack. 

JOCK. 

My certy Tibby, ye hae ta'en us to a noble 
dining room. Faith, this mak's a mock, a 
mere pantry, o' your corporation ha's an' 
y, 3 



230 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

county rooms — partitioned, panelled, an' pain- 
ted, by the rich hand o' nature, carpeted 
by the same undertaker, an' roofed in wi' the 
blue bend o' heaven. O, Tibby lass ! sax 
hours ayont our present speaking ; when the 
gowan has gotten a grip o' the dew, an' the 
birk buss, an' oxterfu' o' the gloam, this will, 
really, be a bit, whare ane could court a fair 
creature to great perfection . 

Tibby. Aye, aye, Mr. Jingler. — 

Jock. Jock, if ye please Tibby, — just the 
auld butter, the auld price. 

Tibby. Weel Jock, if it maun be sae, I 
was gaun to say, cadgers are aye thinking on 
creels, an' wooers an' beggars on barley mows, 
an' lown dyke sides ; sae, wi' me, I wou'd 
count it a better bit for an encampment o' 
cairds. — Caller water ye see, within sax strid- 
dles ; elding there for the riving ; trouts down 
in the Ayr for the taking, an' a' kin' o' vittle, 
potatoes, and poultry, close by, — for the steal- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 231 

ing. But, it might do bravely for baith, as 
the auld Tinkler sang says, 

' Merry hae I been making a cutty, 
An' merry hae I been making a spoon, 

Merry hae I been drinking a drappy, 
An' kissin my lassy whan a' was done.' 

Edie. (officiating as carver.) Come, my 
auld princess o' Pig wives, what bit o' the 
beast does your heart gi'e ye to ? 

Tibby. It's a' fish that comes in my net 
neibor ; sae, just gie me a bit pick o' the first 
an' readiest. 

Jock. Tak your ain min' o't Tibby. but, 1 
gie ye fair warning that, like a tame linty, 
ye' re to get your seed for your singing. 

Tibby. Say ye. Aweel frien', gif my tongue 
was in as gude tift for singing, as it was 
the first time that your back en' braiden'd on 
my plaiding coat, I sou'd gie ye, not only a 
roaring sang, but a bab to the boot. 

(The party getting speechless for a space.) 



232 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Suppose their feeding fairly finish'd, 
Their ham some 3 lb. trone diminished; 
While Edie, wx a smile brings forth, 
The noble spirits o' the north. 

Edie. Haud that to your head Tibby. That's 
the geer lass for synding down a saut dinner, 
simmer stour, and heart sorrow. 

Tibby. Weel lads, here's to ye, an' a' con- 
nected wi' ye, either by the bosom, or by 
blood. 

Jock. Mony bravv thanks to ye my auld 
canty. Hech woman ! It's mony a lang day 
sin' last I saw your grey plaid, an' heard the 
clatter o' your pigs and whistles. An' now, 
when I get time to speer, how hae ye been 
wagging through the warl' sinsyne. 

Tibby. Just muckle, after the auld fasson. 
Cadging about the track-pats, pouries an 7 
succar bowls; getting baubees for them whiles, 
an' whiles troaking them for auld rags, eggs, 
and ait meal. Though, I maun say, things hae 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 233 

rather bettered wi' me this whilock. Ye'll min' 
the bit misfortune I had wi' the Laird o' Cur- 
whang ? Gude kens, I mind it weel : It was 
just the saxt year afore the dear meal. Poor 
body, my mither died on the back o't ! It was 
aye thought to be some inward trouble ; but, 
I fear, I fear my business wi' Cur whang, was 
the headsheaf o' her yirdly dool. Aye, man, 
that was black weather wi' me indeed. A dead 
mither, a fatherless infant, — for Cur whang, 
ye'll min', fell frae his horse in ane o' his 
rides, an' brack his neck ; — wi' the ill will o' 
some, an' the ill word o' a' ; but, it's wonner- 
fu' how things come roun' : It's an auld saying 
an' a true, — 

' The darkest day has aye a glimmer, 
An' the warst year has aye a simmer.' 

An' we aften see the saut shower o' sorrow, 
grow a fairer flower than braver days could 
hae bred ; sae it far'd wi' me. Tammy, my 
bairn was aye an' unca biddable canny callant. 
1 pat him to the wright business ; an' now he's 



234 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

faun into an unca fine way o' doing up in 
Englan', an' sen's me hame allenerly athallo'- 
day, an' beltan as muckle's pay for my bit 
house an' yard. There's a bairn to brag o\ 

Jock. Success to the get o' auld Curwhang, 
I'm glad he swaps sae little o' the deddy. 
Though, Curwhang took mony a loving 
ride an' stride after ye, an' it's weel kent gif 
he had been spair'd, your bread was baked ; 
an', truly, Tibby, ye ware then weel wordy 
the traiking after. 

Tibby. Aye, neibor, that's a' owre now. — 
As the auld sang says, 

The hitching by o' time, 

Tho' it looks to creep sae canny, 

Mak's an' aik out o' a nit, 
An' a bonny lass a granny.' 

Edie. Weel said, my auld bag o' ballads. 
— Now frien's, as we're sitting within the 
gurgle o' the Ayr, and under " the gay green 
birch ;" if Tibby wou'd gie us " Highland 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 235 

Mary," it would completely incorporate our 
feelings, I may say, with our seat. 

Tibby. Ony thing I'm worth ye're wel- 
come to ; yet, I daresay, I needna say, that 
my auld crazy voice is better sorted to ham- 
meart lilts than sic fine springs. Tho' I min* 
the day, but that's a twenty-year auld brag, 
whan I was na fley'd for the fykiest o' them -, 
but ye'se get it as I can gie't. 

(Tibby sings.) 

Edie. Let's turn a horn to the virgin me- 
mory of Mary, the bosom bride of our Bard ! 

Linker. This stream, whose murmurs float 
around us, is one of three, that Burns has 
doubly hallowed by his genius and residence. 
Doon was his morning stream,,/ Whare first 
he wove the rustic Sang'; Ayr gushed the 
mighty waters that quired to his manhood ; 
while the Nith, too certainly, moans and mur- 
murs by his untimely tomb, — 



236 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

' O ! now his radient course is run, 

For Burn's course was bright, 
His soul was like the glorious sun, 

A matchless heavenly light '. ' 

Jock. His farewell to this stream, com- 
posed when about to embark for the West In- 
dies ; and, while he was ' sculking about to 
elude the merciless kennel of the Law,' seems 
wrung out of the bitterest drippings of sorrow. 
The last verse is, indeed, the retrospective 
history of a broken heart — 

1 Farewell old Coila's hills and dales, 
Thy heathy moors and winding vales, 
Those scenes, where wretched memory roves, 
Pursuing past unhappy loves ! 

Tibby. Aye, poor fellow ! his loves ware 
whiles gay wanchancy as was their upshot, but 
he never made use o' ony o' that vile hypo- 
crisy that tries to finneir up wickedness wi' 
words or wally shaws. I min' when his Bon- 
ny Betty was in the strae, he coft a blithe- 
meat cheese, an 7 carried it to her manfully 



THE LAND OF BURNS 237 

thro' the town on his head, as if it had been a 
wheat firlot. He tried aye to mak a mense for 
his misdeeds, but never made lies to hide 
them. O ! confound the loun — 

' Says, ' dear an' dawtie,' in the shaiv ; 
But, * jade an' limmer,' in the straw'. 

Edie. Amen, my old gangrel ! did ye af- 
ten come athort him when he sojourned in 
these parts ? 

Tibby, Aye, when his father's house was 
near Tarbolton, I used aften to pap in at 
night-fa', when he was dauding the barn dust 
aff his jacket. He was aye blyth to see me, an' 
never held aff me for auld sangs. After him an' 
his billy gaed up to Mossgiel, I did na see 
him sae often ; an' ye may guess the whare- 
fore. He was a young, roving chiel then, an' 
I was neither auld nor ugly, and had ha' en 
the bit slip I made ye sensible o' ; sae, it 
wou'd been nae scouring to his character if I 
had been seen traiking owre inuckle about the 
steading. In the spring morning tho', whan 



238 A PILGRIMAGE TG 

I wou'd be taking the gate, I hae gotten my 
e'e on him pannering down by the lowne wa- 
ter edge, about the time that the primrose 
comes out frae 'mang the bare busses, and black 
dead leaves, like some comely ken't face amang 
colliers. The hindmost glisk I got o' him, 
was ae gay hashy day, I think about the tail 
o' the tawtie-lifting, as ilka waff o' win' was 
sending down a shower o' yellow leaves frae 
the aishen tree, like a flight o' gouldies. He 
was stan'ing in a dyke slap, booted, wi' a 
staff in his han\ I gied him the time o' day, 
an' speered if he was gaun to lea us, as the 
kintra clatter had it. ' Yes,' quo' he, ' Tibby, 
I am ; but it maks a wae foy, ye ken, when 
the flesh flits without the heart, 

Jock. Is your memory, Tibby, yet in pos- 
session o' ony o' thae auld melodies that wont 
to affect him ? 

Tibby. I hae them a' in a sort o 1 stake an' 
ryce way. They've lain sae lang by, they're 
a wee moth eaten ; but I'll gie ye ane as it is.-- 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 239 



THE FAIR MAY'S MANE. 

It fell upon a simmer day, 

A wee afore the sum wa3 gane ; 
I chanced to meet a young fair may 

Within the greenwood a' her lane.' 

She had a face, as fair a face, 

As ony bloom upon the brier, 
He's ta'en her by the waist sae sraii' 

An* asked her to be his dear. 

Eh', gang na out ye maidens fair, 
About the down come o' the dew ; 

For young men wi' a flattering tongue 
May gar ye do the thing ye'll rue. 

He's led her by the bank sae green, 
He's wiled her to the Hollan tree, 

An' lack a day ! he's wiled away 

The thing that maidens sou'd na gie. 

O, what gets she that loes owre weel ? 

What gets the young thing loes owre free ? 
A bonny babe to fill her arms, 
An' sorrows drap to fill her e'e. 



24G A PILGRIMAGE TO 

When berries fill the nettle bush, 

When the lift is green, instead o' blue, 

When apples deed the hawthorn tree ; 

Then young men's words they will prove true, 

" O ! that my mother had ne'er me nursed ; 

Or, yet my father to me sung ; 
O ! that my cradle had ne'er me rock'd ; 

Or, I had died when I was young. 

The cauld clay soon will be my bed, 
The green grass then will be my sheet ; 

The clocks an' worms my bedfellows, 
An' O ! sae sonndly's I shall sleep." 



Jock. That's e'en a dowie ditty. Hech, 
but it maks the flesh saft, and braidens the 
downsitting like daigh on a dresser. Sit yoDt 
Edie. — Come Tibby, gie's something fast an' 
funny, to gar the heart, creep up the ribs to 
the laughing bit, an' mak us fidge on the tap 
o' our back-en' like a peerie. 

Tibby. Whe, — let me think, — what wad 
ye think o' c Ned the Thrasher,' or the * Widow 
o' the wast' ? Dealers, ye ken sou'd aye keep 
the goods that's ca't for ; and our kintra folk, 









THE LAND OF BURNS. 241 

for the maist feck, like a lilt nane the war o' 
haeing, as Jean Glover said, a gude nettin 
stripe o' blue in't.— 

Edie. Jean Glover ; — Is na that her that 
made " Owre the muir amang the heather ?" 

Tibby. Nane else. Aye, Jean was really 
a right ramstam ane. Nane o' your linen 
cheeks, an' muslin mou's, that sighs an' sick- 
ens owre afu' heart; na' truly, it was aye leap 
year wi' Jean. She gaed ance down to Ayr ; 
I min' to buy a waistcoat for a lad she likit, 
when the shop-haudder wou'd ha'en her to tak 
some new fangled thing, wi' a powdered grun% 
an' a sett flower. — c Na, na,' quo' Jean, in her 

rough way, ' nane o' your d d cat feet, 

gie me something like mysel, wi* a gude nettin 
stripe o' blue in't. 

Edie. Truly, Jean maun hae been nae 
tethered thing. Cou'd ye min' ony o' her 
sangs, think ye? 



24*2 a PILGRIMAGE TO 

Tibby. Bide a wee, — let me think, aye 
here's ane o 1 them. 

TAM O' THE BALLOCH. 

Air.—' The Campbells are coming? 

In the nick o' the Balloch lived Moorlan* Tam, 
Weel stented wi' brochan an' braxy ham ; 
A breast like a board~a back like a door 
An* a wapping wame that hang down afore. 

But what's come owre ye Moorlan' Tam, 
For your leg's now grown like a wheelbarrow tram, 
Your e'e it's faun in— your nose it's faun out, 
An' the skin o' your cheek's like a dirty clout. 

O, ance like a yaud ye spankit the bent 
Wi' a fecket sae fu' an' a stocking sae stent, 
The strength o' a stot--the weight o' a cow, 
Now Tammy, my man, ye're grown like a grew. 

I min' sin' the blink o' a canty quean, 
Cou'd watered your mou' an' lighted your e'en, 
Now ye leuk like a yowe, whan ye sou'd be a ram, 
O what can be wrang wi' ye Moorlan' Tam. 

Has some dog o' the yirth set your gear abreed, 
Ha« they broken your heart, or broken your head, 



THK LAND OF BLHNS. 



348 



Hae they rack'd we rungs, or skittled wi' 8te*l 
Or, Tammy my man hae ye seen the deil ? 

Wha ance was your match at a stoup an a tale', 
Wi' a voice like a sea, an' a drouth like a whale, 
Now ye peep like a pout, ye glumph an* ye gaunt ; 
O, Tammy, my man, are ye turn'd a saint. 

Come louse your heart, ye man o' the muir ; 
We tell our distress ere we leuk for a cure ; 
There's law's for a' wrang, an' sa's for a 6air, 
Sae Tammy, my man, what wou'd ye hae mair ? 

O ! neighbour, it neither was thrasher or thief, 
» That deepened my e'e, an' lightened my beef ; 
But the word that mak's me sae waeftf an' wan 
Is~Tam o' the Balloch's a married man ! 

Jock. By the saul o' him whas dust's in 
Dumfries ! I cou'd sit in the sough o' thy saugs 
Tibby, < Frae November, till October.' But, 
look lads, it's time we were moving towards 
Mauchline. 

Now glour, out o' your fancies een. 
An' see the foursome on the green, 
As merry's birds upon their perch ; 
Then mark the lads begin to march; 
* r2 



244 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

An' Tibby gather up her creel, 
An' shake her tail, an 1 say fareweel. 
Syne see the pilgrims grup the beast, 
An' airt his brecham to the east. 



It was upon one of Mauchline's prophane 
fair days, that our pilgrims entered it, and 
about that hour, — 

' When chapman billies leave the street 
An' drouthy neibors, neibors meet.' 

The Tillage is seated upon the south-west 
side of a high ridge of land, that gradually 
swells up into Galston Moor ; bounded re- 
spectively by the Ayr and Irvine. The houses, 
for the most part are staid elderly looking 
pieces of stone; hooded with thatch, and edged 
with slate, and are altogether, more associated 
with the past, than the present. — It is, cer- 
tainly, not a good heart that loves to look 
where desolation is green ; neither do we hold 
it a right one, that loves the spots that art has 
lately touched : But the 6 homes of other years,* 
that time, as in love, hath laped up in moss, 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 245 

are pleasant finger posts for travelling the 
spirit rightly into the past. Mauchline, was 
full of such, and our pilgrims, made pretty 
little tours by their pointing. 

Their first task, (after lodging their animal) 
was, to enquire out the house of Jasper, 
Bethral and Bellman, for the parish. This, 
they soon accomplished, but, Jasper was from 
home. A pretty girl, daughter to old Clink- 
umbell, told them so ; but added, if they would 
halt, till she mounted her shawl and bonnet, 
she would assist them to search him out, as he 
had merely stepped out with a market-day 
friend. Her offer, was accepted with becom- 
ing gallantry. She was equipt in a minute; 
and, taking the keys o' the Kirk in her hand, 
tript lightly along with them, to the known 
howffs of her father, 

Two or three calls had proved ineffectual, 
when, meeting with a young man of a genteel 
appearance, she enquired, if he had seen the 
object of their search. He had, and, with a. 

• s 3 



246 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

readiness, that proved her black eye had not 
been idle, undertook to relieve her of the keys, 
and her mission. Jasper, was now soon found, 
and immediately, on learning their errand, 
stept off with them and the young man, to the 
church yard. 

Before, however, allowing Jasper to enter 
upon his anecdotes, and description of the 
narrow and holy house, it is becoming, he 
should himself be described. — He was to give 
him at full length, a hardy little bundle of a 
man, his stature, fluctuating between five feet 
four, and five feet six, from the circumstance 
of one limb exceeding the other, the interme- 
diate inches. His face, was rather a lengthy 
one, the ground colour whereof, was a strong 
brick red, speckled with little moulds of a 
richer hue. His nose, as to size, was nothing 
in itself particular ; but, the great body of his 
face, having a noseward swell, gave it a most 
prominent look, as a small tower seems large 
on a hill. His eye, was a quick determined 
little grey fellow, and his mouth, spoke sharp 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 247 

things, even when shut. In the whole face, 
indeed, there sat a wonderful degree of re- 
gardless firmness, and downright veracity, 
broke occasionally, with the chuckle of one 
who can enjoy both a bottle and a joke, and 
never better than when neither were at his own 
expense. ]His apparel was black, at least, 
had been ; — indeed, his whole raiment had 
rather fallen into the moult; yet, his carnage 
was stately, waiving the limp, and his speech 
was the speech of one, more accustomed to 
contradict, than to be contradicted. 

When they entered the holy spot, where 
fun met the Bard, and helped him to lift up 
the lap of many a specious cloak ; Jasper, 
towered to his full height and importance. 
He knew to an inch where the c tent' stood, 
and could point, with the same certainty, the 
site of the * shed 7 that e screen'd the country 
gentry ;' the spot where * Kilmarnock's wab- 
sters,' blackguarded it ; the bottom room of 
'the raw o' tittering jades,' and the stance of 

1 Racer Jess,' and her \ twa three wh s.' 

r t 



248 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

And he pointed, with equal confidence, the 
path by which ' common sense* walked off in 
a pet, ' fast, fast, that day.' 

The mortal parts of most of those that Burns 
had immortalized, in this quarter, they found, 
had their narrow houses close by each other ; 
forming*, to the south of the church, a little 
poetical ward. Daddie Auld', that pretty 
specimen of christian meekness and liberality, 
had got himself snugly roofed in with a stone, 
that told, with flourishes, who it sheltered. 
* Nanse Tannoch,' the decent Nanse, lodged 
a little to the south, with no hatchment, but 
what summer had raised. e Holy Willie's 
weel worn clay,' had i ta'en up its last abode' 
a little beyond Nanse, and like the Holy 
Father, he, too, lay stoned in state. And 
poor • Racer Jess', had likewise run her mor- 
tal race, and was a narrow house-holder in the 
same vicinity. There was, in the doings of 
that reckless leveller, and notorious spencian 
death, much matter here for moralizing. And 
Hamlet-wise, ' to grop that earthly hole in low 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 249 

pursuit,' and see Ihe holy men mingling their 
flesh with the publican and sinner ; — to see the 
same flock of worms feasting on their different 
members, and the same crop of hemlock and 
docks, waving green with their united juices. — 
Such unhallowed union ! It seemed a wonder, 
how the worthies could lie it out. 

Jasper, had a little history for each grassy 
hillock. There was nothing particular in the 
last acts of the priest or publican, but the 
manner of Willie's decease was truly charac- 
teristic. At a country fair, he had been so 
foully handled by his favorite, Mr. Barley- 
corn ; that he was packed into a cart, with a 
number more, in similar circumstances, to be 
carried home. The driver, being somewhat 
in the same state, had driven, either so hard 
or badly, that William was unfortunately jol- 
ted out ; and, the stupid carrier, not having 
counted how many head of David's swine he 
had taken up, never recollected the holy man, 
in setting the rest down. Next morning, he 
was found in the road ditch, dead. That 



250 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

famous piece of frailty, Jess, they found had 
died of the same disease. On one of Mauch- 
line's market-days, she had been picked from 
the street, and flung into a bed, in which she 
shortly expired. The young man that accom- 
panied them, rather hinted, that she was 
supposed to have been smothered among the 
bed clothes ; but, the old knave of spades, 
who seemed to have had a pea in the pot, 
swore, that, though she had been a drunk 
duchess, she could not have gotten fairer play 
for her life. 

The next object that craved their attention, 
was the Kirk, — as ugly an old lump of conse- 
crated stone as ever cumbered the earth. It 
seems, (if one might judge from the arched 
lintels that attempt to peep through the rough 
plaister,) to have been set up by gothic hands \ 
and, if so, presbyterianism has really been 
tolerably successful, in beating it into its 
favorite model, — a barn. The interior, is, if 
possible, more dismal. Cold, damp, dark? 
and dirty ; looking dissolution, and smelling 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 251 

decay, and a fitter place, one could hardly 
imagine, for crying f tidings of damnation* 
in. Besides the ground floor, it contains two 
wonderful looking things, called lofts. One 
stretches from the east gable, down into the 
body of the Kirk ; the other, sticks out from 
the wall opposite the pulpit, supported by two 
wooden pegs, which gives it quite the danger- 
ous look, of that cunning engine, a mouse trap. 
Beneath this queer canopy, Jasper, pointed 
out the c cutty stool', where Burns sat when 
'Mess John, beyond expression, fell foul o' 
him ;' " But," said the bellman, ?■' tho' that's 
the bit whar he sat, it's no the seat. It's been 
made into a twa armed chair, for behoof o' a 
society here, wha haud his birth day, an' at 
this hour, it stands in the yill-house, we 
left." " Then, let us go to the alehouse," said 
Edie.— And they left the Kirk. 

In passing to the inn, they picked up a few 
old men, that hung loosely about the village, 
(being market-day) who had been acquainted 
with the Bard. When the chair was produ- 



252 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

ced, and the bowl set asmoke, the pilgrims 
enacted, that each man, as he related what he 
knew, or, had heard, of the immortal object 
of their pilgrimage, should seat him on the 
honoured stool. This mode of chairing, or 
rather stooling the members, produced an 
immense heap of anecdote, from which the 
following are picked : — 

In the summer evenings, Burns used to 
frequent Mauchline, either on errands of bu- 
siness, fun, sociality, or love ; and, it was 
easily known to those he passed, what passion 
was towerd. " Whan he was coming" said 
Jasper, who was the chairman, " to get fun 
wi' the young fallows, he gaed aye at a braw 
spanking step* his staff in his han', an' his 
head heigh ; but, whan ought black was in the 
win 7 , his oak was in his oxter, the rim o' his 
hat laigh — wi* a leuk, bless us ! wou'd turned 
milk. I hae met him this gait mysel', an' 
then, by my certy, it wou'd ta'en a buirdly 
chieF to said boo to him. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 253 

One night, during the time his name was 

* teased about in kintra clatter/ he met in the 
-village a female friend, for whom he enter- 
tained a high respect ; and, understanding 
she had some distance to walk without any 

* trysted' companion, he offered to accom- 
pany her, provided she could get another to 
join them, " For," said he, " I must not be 
seen with you alone, as I'm looked on just 
now in the country as tar — a thing that none 
dare touch without being soiled. 

Burns served as a volunteer ; and once 
when the corps were exercising in firing, 
after a few bad discharges, the captain asked, 
" Is this your eratic genius, Mr. Burns, that 
is spoiling our fire ?" " No," said Burns, " it 
can't be me, captain, for look ye, I have forgot 
my flint." 

Sometime after he was attached to the ex- 
cise, a smuggler met him one night, while 
wandering by the Nith, and not aware of who 
it was, offered to sell him some whiskey he 



254 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

had in concealment. " You've lighted on a 
bad merchant," said the Bard, " I'm Robert 
Burns, the gauger." The fellow stared ; 
but, with a smuggler's impudence, returned, 
" Aye, but you'r likewise Robert Burns, the po- 
et, and I mak sangs too ; sae, ye'd surely ne'er 
ruin a brither ?" " Why, friend," said Burns, 
" the poet, in me, has been sacrificed to the 
exciseman ; so, I should like to know what 
superior right you have to exemption." 

When the young man who had accompa- 
nied them throughout, entered the sacred 
chair, instead of prosing, like his predeces- 
sors, he recited, with considerable energy, the 
following verses, composed 

ON BURNS' ANNIVERSARY. 

We meet not here to honour one, 

To Gear or grandeur born ; 
Nor one, whose bloodiness of soul 

Hath crowns and kingdoms torn.. 

No, tho' he'd honours higher far 
Than lordly things have known, 



THE LAND Or BURNS. 255 

His titles spring not from a prince, 
His honour from a throne ! 

Nor needs the Bard o' Coila, arts 

His honour to prolong, 
No flattery to gild his fame ; 

No record but his song. 

O ! while old Scotia hath sons, 

Can feel his social mirth, 
So long shall honesty and worth 

Have brothers upon earth. 

So long as lovers, with his song, 

Can spurn at shining dust, 
So long hath woman's faithful breast 

A bosom she may trust. 

And while his independent strain 

Can make one spirit glow, 
So long shall freedom have a friend, 

And tyranny, a foe ! 

Here's to the social, honest man, 

Auld Scotland's boast and pride : 
And here's to Freedoms worshippers 

Of every tongue and tribe. 

And here's to them, this night, that meet, 
Out o'er the social bowl ; 



256 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

To raise to Coila's darling son 
A Monument of Soul. 

What heart hath ever match'd his flame ? 

What spirit match'd his fire ? 
Peace, to the prince of Scottish song ! 

Lord of the Bosom's Lyre S 

From this lad, our wanderers procured a 
few small articles, had helped to compose the 
browster-wife establishment of auld Nanse 
Tannoch, and, never did pilgrims to the holy 
land, stare and fumble with more devotion, 
over the thumb-bone of some half buried 
saint, than did our pilgrims, over those relics 
of immortal merriment. Mauchline, indeed, 
was quite the Lorretta of their hearts ; the 
' cutty stool,' was to them a shrine, and each 
of their ancient companions, poetically cano- 
nized. They felt spiritually at home with all 
around them, — but, alas ! 

* Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches, they maun ride.' 

It was a close sultry evening, when they got 



THE LAND OF BURNS, 257 

to the street, and the casements being gene- 
rally thrown open to admit air, what knots of 
beauty's freshest flowers peeped out ! with 
hair and eyes of jet, and loves luscious cheek, 
that flames and fades at every glance. — 
" Verily" said the Linker, with water in his 
mouth, "if these fair maids of Mauchline, 
are counterparts of their mothers, this, truly 
was a town-full of temptation to one, 

' Who keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame/ 

On a rising ground, a little to the east of 
Mauchline, they halted, to take a last look of 
that village, and the valley of Ayr. It was 
a sweet hour, for saying fare thee well. The 
sun, had lifted his bright cloth of gold from 
the dales, and hung it for a moment, on the 
hills ; the thrush, had mounted his favorite 
tree, to give to the red west, his last song, 
and the scented breeze, floating gently over 
the fields, were singing their May tribes asleep. 
Edie, who, had gone into musings, on leaving 
s 



25S A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Mauchline, raised himself solemnly up, and 
in a deep prophetic voice, delivered his — 

FAREWELL TO THE LAND OF BURNS. 

I have said, fare tbee well, before, 

As I looked, with mine eyelid wet, 
Upon scenes where my heart had a store— 

And those plants of the spirit were set, 
That, we cannot unroot— or forget. 

And I've felt,~as the dark mountain's brow, 
Had it written, in letters of jet,— 

' Eternity severs us now.' 

And I feel that for ever begun, 

Fair land, as I gaze upon thee !— 
No more shall that " sweet setting sun" 

Illumine those vallies for me ! 
Yet bright may your blossoming be, 

And soft be the gush of your streams. 
O ! still in my slumbers will ye 

Be the land of my loveliest dreams. 

The remembrance of thee will not wear, 

Like the mist on thy mountains away ; 
Or, as temples, that grandeur will rear, 

To glitter and glance for a day • 
But as towers are embedded for aye, 

It shall stand on the top of my heart, 
And o'er ray fond fancy hold sway, 

When memory her pleasures impart. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 259 

When we ride, (as a seaman would say) in 
a road, where the heart hath many anchors, 
the shows of the present, and charts of the 
past, are our studies, and, anticipation, with 
all its motly buildings, lie scarfed up ; but, 
when the hour of unmooring arrives, and we 
are doomed to take another stretch, into the 
dark ocean of life ; then, our light merry 
spirits are stowed below, and bustle and busi- 
ness take the rope, and the rudder. — Heavily 
did our pilgrims feel this changing of the 
watch, as they bore away from the Land of 
Burns. 

Their eternal farewell to Ayrshire, — whether 
it be poetry or not, — was no poetical fiction. 
The feelings, indeed, that wrung it out, were 
kindred to those that drew from Burns, the 
saddest of his songs; — 

* Farewell my friends ! Farewell my foes ! 

* My peace with these, my love with those— 
' The bursting tears my heart declare, 

* Farewell the bonnv bank's of Ayr,' 



5 2 



260 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

Like the heart broken Bard, two of them 
had resolved on crossing the ' Atlantic's roar/ 
to seek for themselves and friends, a resting 
place, in the young world of the west ; where 
those seeds of freedom and independence, 
that < the voice of Coila' had sown in their 
souls, might flourish and bloom, unstinted by 
the poisonous pruning of despots, or, the 
deadly mildew of corruption. 

The Linker had, in his stolen hours, when 
wandering by his native stream, composed, 
under these feelings, a few rambling stanzas, 
which, the others insisted, should be titled, 
his Last Lay ; and, as John was one of those 
indentured to join them, when, in the wilder- 
ness, they had ' purchased a nest,' an* adieu 
to him, was added. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 261 



THE 
OF 

THE LINKER, 



Who can say that fortune grieves him 
When the star of hope she leaves him ?" 

Burns. 



I. 



If there be aught on earth that can o'er rule 

A settled soul, to apathy a kin ; 
Gushing it o'er the edging of that pool, 

The withering world hath dried and damm'd it in, 
It is the bowering woods, the pleasant din 

Of waters, where our infancy was spent ; 
Ere the fresh spirit took the tint of sin ; 

Ere care had made a vassal of content ; 
But all was pure as morn's fair firmament, 



262 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

II. 

Ten years hath deck'd and desolated thee ; 

Hath drunk thee in, or, swollen thee o'er thy meads, 
Since last I beat thy pools in boyhood's glee, 

Clear, sleeping in thy vale like amber beads, 
And thy live waters, shrunk to silver threads, 

Seemed stringing altogether ; yet, when I 
Would think on flowers have beautified the weed* 

That I have wandered over, thou art nigh, 
With all thy glories waving in mine eye.-- 



III. 



My memory hath of thee a faithful chart ; 

And with the waining winter, never ceas'd 
To bear me where yon hillock stands apart, 

Holding its shoulder to the cold north-east ; 
Making the blast o'er leap its sheltering breast , 

Till April's lovely family are seen ; 
Giving the weary sense, its earliest feast 

Of scented yellow, and refreshing green ; 
Heaven's pleasant pledge of summer's finished scene. 



IV. 



We left thee, like the Patriarchs of old, 
A family, with all our stock and store ; 

Hoping, as man will hope still, to behold 
A spot, where we might fix and fas'n mote ; 

A wider cable, and a sheltering shore : 



THE LAND OF BURN*. 263 

Ay, but there rose a tempest, and it blew 
Till our best hopes were broke and overbore; 

For he, the gallant helmsman of our crew, 
The father of our life and love it slew. 



O ! I have mourn VI profusely o'er the dead; 

And wished that they were back, or I away :— 
But thy departure, Father, was the head, 

The chief of all my sorrows to that day. 
Thou wert my spirits propping and its stay !— 

Thy path was aye the pathway of the just, 
And all thy principles so purely lay 

Within the founts of honour, truth and trust ; 
That I will say above thy hallowed dust,-- 

Father, if thou hast not that rest 
Eternal Heaven hath named the best, 
There's not a living man on earth 
Who knew thy virtues> and thy worth ; 
But what would say with all their heart, 
'A e thou hast not thy desert.' 



264 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

VI. 

I might have been a something in this land, 

Nor penury on my name had set its blot, 
Had roguery been scantier, or this hand 

Held, crab-like, by the grapple that it got ; 
But I was cold when villany was hot 

And so it went.— But with it did I throw 
The watery, wistful look, that those who dote 

Gift unto each at parting ? Truly no, 
I spoke without a sigh, and bade it go.— 

VII. 

Youth, health, and strength, were yet within my cup, 

And spirits of a height no hand might crop ; 
All well prized items, in my summing up 

What this world hath to give, and liar hope 
Held to my fancies growth its slidering prop, 

And told me with a wanton's wiling then, 
How poorer ones had struggled to the cope 

Of this world's wealth and honours.— This was plain- 
I was a man— it had been done by men.— 

VIII. 

Yet, sooth, I had no stomach for the heights ; 

Those pinnacles eternal in the beam, 
My eye was on a valley spot, whose lights 

Are tattered with the trees, and rather seem 
A hiding place, where inward blessings teem 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 265 

Ranker than outward flourishing. A nest 
Where a quiet soul might hatch its harmless dream, 

Far from a world, whose doings at the best, 
Dispoil the bosom's peace, the spirits' rest 



IX. 



I girt me for this travel, but alas ! 

I found that there were giants in my way ; 
And truth, old stubborn truth, rose in my face, 

Telling me, in the vaunt of my essay ;— 
" Good lad, thou art not harnessed for this fray,.'' 

I might have braving courage, quite enough, 
But lack'd that prudence, inches, day by day, 

Sly sentinel discretion, ; and the stuff 
That plods away, regardless of rebaff. 



A stubborn, iron pride, that could not stoop, 

And wag, and wave, like willow to the breath 
Of those, whose word is wealth — why, at a swoop, 

This gave my sundry hopes a sudden death, 
And built a tall partition in my path, 

That I to sap or scale was all unfit. 
So failures oft repeated grow to faith— 

On each new struggle, this old truth, was writ 
'This world is not for thee,—nor thou for it.' 



266 A PILGRIMAGE TO 

XT. 

Nor stand I single, there is joy in that ; 

Misrule hath sicken'd, many would be free, 
And cursed corruption, with her brood, hath sat 

A jury upon worth, and doth decree 
* This is no land for honesty to be.' 

It boils the blood to see what villains dare, 
How shade, by shade, they lay on slavery :— 

But hush ! there's yet a balm to our despair— 
A word of hope — " There is a world elsewhere !'* 

XII. 

Columbia, thou refuge, thou Canaan 

Unto our house of bondage ! yon red light 
That now is dying o'er our western main, 

Leaving us in the gropings o' the night, 
Is gushing on thy shores a morning bright, 

No foggy glimmer ; no autumnal hazp ; 
That looks of heaviness, and breathes of blight ! 

But that wide heavenful of unfleckered blaze, 
Which prophecies a long — long— term of glorious days f 

XIII. 

I see thee like a giant in his teens ! 

Thy ponderous sinews stiffening to a pitch 
Might make the nations tremble ; but, thou beam* 
From eves in liberty and honour rich, 



THE LAND OF BURNS 

A smile declares, that, battle's not thy itch, 
But woe to him who maddens thee to take 

Thy sword, and fling thy mattock to the ditch, 
Thy infant brawl hath made our world awake, 

And thy old tyrant mother, quell and quake I 

XIV. 

Come then ye tribe, ye clansmen of my heart, 

Let's launch us with our souls for Freedom's shore : 
Tho' we have ties to cut, tho' we must part 

With friends will make our inmost bosom sore ; 
And scenes that twine, like ivy round its core. 

What! shall a son of ours in shackles lie, 
Slave to a reptile that our souls abhor ? 

Away! while Freedom lights a corner with his eye, 
I will be there,— tho' it were but to die ! 



XV. 



We wrangle not for Mammon's dignity, 

Nor windy honour, that in titles lie; 
The soil shall be our bullion, boys, and we 

Will coin us comforts from it, that shall buy 
Heart's ease, and a bright varnish to the eye ; 

They cannot sell us here. — Fye on the art 
That mounts a mocking smile upon a sigh, 

Give me that commerce, when the mind's a mart 
Where the glad eye hath dealings with the heart, 
T2 



267 



26S E A PH.GRIMA&E TO 



XVI. 

O ! for a cote, whose threshold takes the sun 

When day is deepening upon the decline j 
Back'd by a woody mountain, towering dun, 

And fronted by a meadow that is mine ; 
Crown'd with the oak, and whisker'd with the vine. 

There, where an infant river sings and plays 
Its sweetest to the twilight, I'd recline, 

And on my native melody I'd raise 
A song to Heaven, of gratitude and praise. 

XVII. 

And is this all 1 wish, or hope to find ? 

No ; to the sun-rise often would I look, 
Longing to welcome those I left behind.— 

In truth, I cannot, like the selfish rook, 
Mutter and munch my pleasures in a nook ;-- 

But, could I raise a gathering song, would bring 
All the kind hearts are written in the book 

Of my affections.-Heavens ! ' how I'd sing 
Till Susquehanna's echos all should ring'. 

XVIfl. 

And I have many a vow, and many a band— 

The knot of friendship-love's devoted pledge :-= 
That there shall come the essence of this land ; 



' THE LAND OF BURNS. 209 

All that I love it for .--Then let the rage 
Of party madden ; or, let it assuage, 

It boots not : my heart's cargo is ashore.- - 
And thou, companion of our pilgrimage, 

Come, tho' the breast may heave, the eye run o'er, 
We must not part as those who meet no more. 



* 



270 A PILGRIMAGE TO 



THE 



LINKER'S ADIEU 



TO HIS BROTHER, 



JINGLIN JOCK. 



The judgment's best decree, Jock, 

Aft banishes the heart ; 
Sae, it hath far'd wi' me, Jock, 

For thou and I maun part. 

O, ye are ane o' twa, Jock, 
That I can weel ca' brither,— 

Whare the saul's strong outs an' ins Jock, 
Clink fine wi' ane anither. 

I've ha'en mony canty days, Jock, 

An' merry nights wi' thee ; 
Wi' storms o' witty fun, Jock, 

An' spates o' barley bree. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 271 

Tho' soon in parting grief, Jock, 

I'll wring thee by the hand ; 
Yet, I look to see us meet, Jock, 

Within a better land. 

Then I'll brew a browst for thee, Jock, 

Will kill thy cankers a', 
An I'll rede room for thee, Jock, 

Or else my mailin's sma'. 

An' the lily o' our heart, Jock, 

(That saul o' the right breed) 
Shall match wi' me, an' we shall b«. 

Three canty carles indeed. 

Syne we will twine a bower, Jock, 

Wi' the forest's living boughs, 
An' baptiz'd in our joy, Jock, 

The PILGRIMS' REPOSE. 



FINIS. 



BROWN, PRINTER, 
DEPTFORD. 



Pa S-e 136, Ehrhth i. £ilK ATA. 



W. BROWN, PRINTER, 
DEPTFORD. 



A Eulic of Kobset Bubns— At a sale of old 
manuscripts and books in London, recently, 
the following lot was included :— Kobeht Buens* 
ode, ( ' Brace's Address to his Troops at ]Bau- 
nockhum " — Tune, " Lewie Gordon." The auto- 
graph mar-uacrrofc of this poem is written on two 
side~3 of a letter addressed to Captain Mullah, 
Dalswinton. The letter commences : — 

Dkak Sie — The following ode is on a subject which 
I know you by no means regard with indiil'erence:— 

"O, Liberty— 

Thou mak'sl the gloomy faca of nature pay, 
Giv'et beauryto tne sun, and pleasure to the day. 
It docs ino so much good to meet with a man whosa 
honest bosom glows with iha generous enthusiasm, 
the heroic daring ot lib riy, that I could not forbear 
sending you a composition o my own on the subject, 
which I really think is in my best manner, &c. 

(Sigued) ROBERT BURNS. 

" A more desirable memorial of this beautiful 
Scottish poet," says the catalogue, "it would 
be impossible to possess." This precious relio 
of the great Scottish poet is framed and glazed, 
anu'inclosed :n a handsome mahogany case. It 
went for £12, and was purchased by Mr. Kobebt 

ThaXiLON. 



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